Angelus Perditionis
by AssButtAnonymous
Summary: Dean is a broken man, drowning himself in alcohol to escape the guilt he feels after killing a prostitute in a state of drunken rage two years ago. He had never been a suspect, never pursued. One morning he wakes up to find weird lesions on his shoulder blades, sending him on a walk that takes him to places he could never imagine. Book One of Two, concept by HollyOakhill on dA.
1. I

Dean Winchester spent the night drunk and delirious doing terrible things. He woke the next morning with a hangover the size of Vancouver and the distinct feeling of his shoulder blades dislodging and ripping their way through his back. He was so sick – bleary eyed and feeble – he chose to ignore it in favor of attempting sleep. Hung over or not, he was having no luck. He groped his way out of bed before stumbling into the bathroom to relieve himself; every movement he made and he couldn't stop thinking it felt like something was grating on his muscles from underneath. Trying to shake off the thought once more, he zipped himself back in before turning to the sole mirror of his apartment.

_'I probably just fell over or something on my way back.'_ He groggily rationalized, looking over the bruised skin beneath his eyes and the stubble threatening to take over his chin. Turning around to assess the damage he found two steadily growing lumps on his back, the skin badly stretched and slightly discolored in a way that suggested something lay beneath.

"What the-"

Dean had a strong constitution, but when one of them shifted without him initiating it he had to admit it was the freakiest thing he had ever seen. What he would never admit to anyone, however, was how he screamed. Like a girl.

Calming after his episode, Dean reached around from behind and gingerly ran his index finger along the one on his left shoulder, finding the inflamed flesh sensitive, sore in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of a pimple growing under the skin and yet somehow so much worse. His first thought was that somehow he was to blame for this development. Sometime close to the witching hour, long after the curfew and most others had laid down their head to rest; he had gone to the place where Lisa Braeden had been killed. People had left tokens of her life at the base of a dying willow tree, its gnarled roots half ripped from the ground while it held desperately to the ground beneath.

There were photographs of her, of course, dead flowers and hallmark cards full of half hearted condolences. Someone – more than likely Lisa's mother – left a rosary wrapped around the neck of ceramic cherub that smiled sweetly at the world, its cheerful demeanor almost satirical and insulting to the ground it laid upon. It was the smile that drove him over the edge, the cherub perched upon the ground where she bled out. It was like giving someone on their deathbed tickets to Disneyland, a poor excuse for a joke. It ate away at him, the thought that someone wanted to bring Angels into the picture now – when it didn't mean anything. Lisa was dead and the Angels were two years too late to do anything about it.

He'd kicked the figure into the tree, stomping on any pieces that were vaguely recognizable. Realizing that he had to take a leak, he pulled himself out and did so over the cards and flowers. Perhaps that had been enough to warrant his current condition. That idea seemed wrong somehow – like there was something he was missing and yet it was just beyond his reach. He'd had a lot to drink, not drunk enough to forget and yet drunk enough to lose all inhibitions.

Looking himself over again, trying to get the best view and getting only a sore neck for his efforts. Maybe something was wrong with him – a brain tumor or some kind of freak snake bite that caused a reaction. Or maybe he was suffering from dementia or some shit like that, a brain eating disease. Maybe it was just all in his head and his body was trying to tell him that he was dying.  
The idea of dying was a relief in and of itself – the feeling of waking up from a nightmare only to find that it was all just a dream. He'd suffered delusions and nightmares for the first half of his life – his mother dying in a house fire when he was barely 4. The feeling was familiar and not in the slightest bit different.

"I'm dying."

Some part of him had hoped that the acknowledgement would suddenly make it all go away, like some kind of magic words or 'open sesame'. No dice, the freakish knots remained and yet they seemed to grow larger with each passing second. He vaguely considered going to a doctor then, but dismissed the thought. If it really was cancer, some kind of brain thing or a simple poisonous bite, he didn't want them telling him that it was curable. He didn't want better – not now. He didn't feel he deserved treatment.

He walked back into the bedroom on mutinous legs threatening to collapse underneath him at any moment. It was as it had always been – a room with nothing more in it than a double wide bed and the faint smells of decay from age old take out boxes strewn across the room with careless abandon. Maybe this was from sleeping in a room with mold, he'd been hearing about things like this all the time from his brother the health freak. The silence lying over the apartment was almost stifling, the noiselessness amplifying his thoughts until they were screaming at him from all angles. Somehow he couldn't stop thinking about his family – the feeling of relief already gone and dread slowly settling in. He was less than enthusiastic about the idea of IV drips, tests that left him humiliated and catheters.

It was too early for this, too early for him to try and think his way through all of the crap that was currently being served to him. He tossed on a shirt and then thought to add a couple more layers in the instance that they things grew bigger and he needed to hide them. He didn't want to try and explain something he had no idea about to strangers. He didn't know where he was going, didn't know what he was doing, but he had the sudden need to get out, get away; it was the kind of need he couldn't deny.  
Walking aimlessly as the pain worsened, Dean somehow found himself on a street he did not recognize, both sides lined with possibly the shadiest places he had ever seen. Stuffing his hands down into the pockets of his father's old leather jacket, he kept his head down while he walked quickly. The church in the middle of it all threw him off, yet he couldn't help the feeling that maybe it was a subconscious need that brought him there.

His mother had taken him and his baby brother to church when they were young, her smile always brightest when he said his prayers and sang the hymns, Sammy too young to remember it or do anything more than coo along. She'd always said that Angels were looking out for them, watching them and helping them along through life. Sure, it was utter bullshit but right now that's what Dean needed – just somewhere he could forget his problems and the looming threat of hospitals and death on the horizon.

The term 'church' was loosely used, the pews nothing more than carefully placed chairs of all kinds in front of an alter made from what used to be a bar counter. The confessional clearly used to be a closet and if Dean looked carefully enough he could see where gunshot holes were plastered over on the walls. Standing at the front, just behind the alter facing in the opposite direction, Dean saw a man he figured was the priest looking up to the crucifix that hung on the wall. Not sure if he was intruding despite the destitute state of the room, Dean almost turned back out. Suddenly enough to make him jump, the man did not bother to turn around as he addressed him.

"What brings you here, my child?"

Dean had always hated that – he wasn't anyone but John Winchester's child. No priest or parish had the right to call him that and even now it hit a raw nerve. Another painful throb from his back reminded him exactly why he had come to begin with.

"I'm…uh, I'm not really from around here…"

The man turned then, electric blue eyes falling on him as a gentle smile graced his features. If it wasn't for the collar, Dean would have thought the man a model rather than a priest – he was strangely beautiful and yet still masculine. The stubble on his chin was out of place for a priest, matching his face better than most. Dean had been too busy looking him over, from his raven colored hair to his solid hips and finally his fairly sized feet before he realized that he had not only been staring, he'd completely ignored what the man had said.

"Uh…sorry, what?"

"I was just welcoming you. My name is Father Christopher, I am the priest under the Pastor of this church. What brings you in, my-"

"Dean. My name is Dean."

An apologetic smile then, almost as if he realized how much it grated at him to be called that. The priest corrected himself.

"How can I help you, Dean?"

"I…don't know. I was just…I needed to get out, do something and then…well, here I am."

"God seems to have brought you here for a reason. If you'd like I can-"

The pain was suddenly unbearable as he felt something push hard at the muscles over his shoulder blades, slowly ripping their way through. Crying out, he fell to his knees while he tried to clutch at his back. Whatever it was continued, relentless and moving of its own accord. Dropping his hands to hold himself up, he tried to even his breathing and failed. He heard a voice he knew was the priest's, deep and lulling like the ocean, calling his name and then there was a tugging at his arm. Accepting the smaller man's aid, he leaned on the priest as he carried him to the alter only to swipe everything from it and have him lay down. If Dean hadn't been so overcome with pain he probably would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, how carelessly everything was now strewn across the floor. Had Dean been a woman it would almost seem like the beginning of one of those pornos that he watched on lonely nights spent on his couch.

He could feel his muscles rip further as whatever they were make their way to the surface of his skin, the movement on his back becoming more violent, almost desperate. He vaguely wondered what the priest was thinking, seeing this alien movement on the back of a man he'd only just met. All thoughts came to a halting stop as the pain intensified.

* * *

Father Castiel Christopher had been praying for a sign when Dean had entered, anything to tell him that God had not abandoned his children. The beasts of the world, the supernatural creatures he had spent so many years of his life fighting were getting stronger, smarter and far worse. Their numbers were growing and they had become restless of late, as if in anticipation of something. Whatever was to come terrified him and he was having trouble keeping faith in something when the supply of evil seemed to far outweigh that of good.

When the man before him fell to the ground his automatic thought had been that maybe this was his sign – something God had sent for him to do, a mission for his devout son. Upon seeing the writhing masses underneath the man's clothing he tried hard not to think the worst. Working the struggling man out of his leather jacket before giving up when he reached the shirts and cutting them with scissors from a nearby first aid kit, he was greeted with two _things_ breaking the skin of his back as blood poured forth.

Suddenly, Dean arched his back and cried out as the two large masses completely ripped through the tissue until exposed to the open air. Castiel couldn't rip his eyes away, didn't dare to breathe as he saw exactly what had emerged from the man's back. He had asked for a sign, anything to tell him that God had not abandoned him and what he was given was a man sprouting wings. The feather's were slick with blood and continued to grow in size until they were brushing across the ceiling while arching down towards the floor.

He stood mesmerized, his brain completely blank until a whimper escaped Dean. The medical skills he had acquired over the years kicked in as he moved swiftly to his side. The wounds were still inflamed, the skin surrounding the new feathers angry red and seeping blood at a slower pace than before. Grabbing a towel he used for baptisms, he mopped it away as best he could, out of his comfort zone and lost on what he could possibly do. He tried to ignore the droplets falling from the twitching wings above him, trying to ignore exactly what it will look like when it is time to clean up.

The gentle rise and fall of him suggested that Dean had fallen into an unconscious state – more than likely from the shock his body had just experienced. No man was built to sustain a sudden gain of appendages. The towel was saturated until it was pointless to continue trying to mop away the blood; Dean's back smeared to the point of looking painted. The blood had stopped by now, for which Castiel was grateful, as he looked over the horrific scene before him. Tossing aside the towel, the priest thought for a moment before grabbing a bucket from the back and filling it to the brim with Holy Water; somehow the idea of washing off this winged man with tap water seemed wrong, like he was exposing an Angel to something undesirable. Looking over the wings once more, he realized exactly how daunting this task was turning. It was going to be a long night.


	2. II

Castiel had never been interested in animal grooming, suddenly finding himself regretting that lack as he eyed over Dean's wings. He knew he couldn't leave the blood to dry and set, he couldn't risk letting the wings become stained and sullied by his own neglect. Thinking over all of the numbers in the parish only one name stood out to him – the local drug smuggling pet shop owner, Gabriel. He was hesitant to leave Dean's side, moving into his office while keeping an ear open in the instance he woke while he was otherwise engaged. It took two rings before he was greeted with a cheerful disposition laced heavily with sarcasm.

"Tail Feather, what can I shake loose for you today?"

"Gabriel? Hello, this is Father Christopher –"

"Oh! Uhh, Hi Father. What can I do you for?"

"I…had a question pertaining to the grooming of a bird's wings."

"Don't tell me you're taking in stray animals now too! Don't you think that place has become enough of a shelter without you pulling a full-fledged Snow White?"

"I do not understand that reference, but this is a delicate matter that was unavoidable. Any assistance you could provide would be much appreciated."

The line was silent for a moment, leaving Castiel wondering if he should have just gone to the shop instead. He quickly dismissed the thought – he could never have left Dean alone.

"Well, the shop closes in an hour, if you want I can come over and –"

"No!"

It was only after her exclamation that he realized what that would sound like to a man like Gabriel. Attempting to cover himself and yet feeling like he was only making it worse, he continued.

"I-I couldn't trouble you with such a trivial matter. Your advice would be more than sufficient."

"Alright, if you're sure…"

"Yes, quite. Thank you, my child."

Castiel took precise notes on a legal pad he kept in his top left desk drawer at all times. Thanking Gabriel once more before hanging up, he set out finding the right kind of brush to use. After much searching he settled on a horse brush that had been given to him as a joke many years before – something about taming the messy mane of hair. The details were faded, the brush unused and thankfully kept. Moving back into the room of worship, he checked to be certain that Dean remained unconscious. Confirmed, he pulled a pew next to the altar and wet the brush. He began with the flight feathers as Gabriel had instructed, working the brush down to the tips before moving a little higher. It took hours for him to finish the first wing, the pristine white blonde shade of the feathers almost strawberry in their dampened state.

Silently he thanked God for this, both for the deliverance of this man and the lack of staining from the slowly drying blood. Moving onto the second wing he worked carefully but with determination; Dean needed him, of that he was sure. He would not fail him now.

* * *

Dean woke to the sun filtering through a window adjacent to where he laid face down, a barrage of pain from all sides of his body and the faintly comforting feeling of someone brushing his hair. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to the verity that the sensation was coming from somewhere over his right shoulder. Sitting up with a start and stretching muscles he knew he had not previously possessed he felt sensitive skin connect hard with something as he moved himself as close to the edge of whatever he had been laying on without falling off.

Whipping his head around he was greeted with huge, breathtaking wings spread wide behind him and the priest from the night before sprawled out on the floor – a bucket of red, murky water upturned on his lap and a large brush in his right hand. The plumage of the wings – his wings – begged for his attention, their pristine appearance seeming out of place in the dilapidated church. Somehow even seeing them now he couldn't believe it that he had wings, that he was had somehow grown something so magnificent despite all that he had done. Trying to reach around and feel where the wings connected to his back he did so with difficulty. He eventually managed and found himself greeted with a down so fine it almost felt like air brushing his finger tips.

The wrongness of it struck him hard as his fingers curled around those feathers roughly and began to pull, his body suddenly fighting him as the already existing pain intensified.

"Don't!"

Strong, steady hands grasped and removed his own, a warm and semi wet body sliding into the place between the wings to hold his arms farther still from the new appendages. Dean struggled with the priest, his wings involuntarily twitching and jerking about as he fought to get his hands back.

"Lemme go!"

"No! I cannot allow you to harm yourself!"

"I'm a freak show! It's not natural to just –"

"It is God's will, Dean."

"Yeah? Well fuck 'im! I didn't ask for this!"

"You were chosen and there is nothing you can do to change that!"

"Like Hell I –"

"Harming them will not change anything!"

The air was punched from his chest as Dean mistook the meaning behind the priest's words, thinking of Lisa instead of his current predicament. Realizing that he couldn't know, that the police hadn't even connected him to the escort did not revive the fight he no longer possessed. He sobered up as he allowed his arms to go heavy and limp in the other man's. Hesitantly, the priest let him go before extricating himself from his back, placing distance between them.

"Why didn't you just throw me on my ass?"

Dean vaguely wondered who had spoken until he noticed the air rushing in and out of his chest, the movement of his own lips. Suddenly he couldn't face the man behind him, his wings trembling slightly as if to give him away, something he tried not to think of. He knew what the priest would say, some spiel about God and his mysterious ways.

"You needed me, so I was there."

Dean shifted then, clumsily moving his wings out of his field of vision. The priest – Father Chris or something – met his gaze, stern but gentle. That's when he remembered what time he had departed from his apartment, the haggard appearance on the smaller man's face now making more sense.

"How long have I been out?"

Seemingly startled by the question, he looked around until he saw the clock on the far wall. Dean could almost see his mind calculating, the furrow of his brow and the concentration in his eyes. Suddenly they returned to his, just as intense as before and somehow looking more blue than they already had.

"Twelve hours roughly."

"…The fuck? You mean to tell me you've been sitting here, washing me up for twelve hours? You don't even know me!"

"Does that matter?"

Those fucking eyes – they peered at him as though they were looking through Dean, watching his inner mechanisms at work. He couldn't take the scrutiny; he had to go somewhere – anywhere. He needed to escape, and here he thought _this_ was the escape.

"I gotta go."

"You cannot-"

"I think we've established I can do whatever the Hell I want."

"It is not prudent to venture outside with the sun still high, you have no means to cover yourself. Your wings will cause a ruckus."

"Yeah, and? Wouldn't you like that – show the world proof God exists?"

"I would not."

"Why? Why aren't you calling every news crew and talk show host to show them a living, breathing Angel?"

"There are some things this world is better without knowing."

The words sounded surprisingly bitter for a man of God, bitter and knowing. Thinking for the first time before opening his mouth, he noticed something else that was off about the man.

"Why didn't you freak out when I up and sprouted wings? That's not exactly normal."

"Define normal."

* * *

Castiel had hoped that he would have more time to prepare Dean before having him question his actions. Yes, he had been surprised to find a man spontaneously growing Angel wings, but he had already known they existed; how could they not when Demons ran amok on this forsaken planet? Father Christopher was more than just a man of Faith, a man of the cloth. Ever since he was abandoned as a child he had been raised a Hunter, a warrior and a soldier for the side of Good. Even now he hunted, choosing the towns he did missionary work in based off of the level of supernatural activity they experienced. He continued to save people from monsters the world could never fathom and yet no one was the wiser. He wasn't certain he was ready to let this winged man know that just yet. Dean pushed harder still.

"Look, you can tell me what the fuck you know about all of this – about me –"

Castiel was appalled by the accusation that lied within the statement.

"I swear I know nothing of-"

"Or I can walk right out that door and leave you to it. You choose."

It took less than a second for Castiel to decide.

"It will sound…ridiculous to you."

"Like growing wings overnight?"

Dean spread his wings in emphasis, finding it only slightly disturbing that it was coming quite easily to him. Eyeing him wearily, Castiel continued.

"Worse – at least with those you have proof."

"Try me."

Castiel took a deep breath before plunging in, like a drowning man surfacing only to go back down for more.

"The monsters that you watch on television, the creatures you had nightmares about growing up…they're all real, Dean – Demons are real, Dean. Very real, very dangerous and I hunt them for a living."


	3. III

"I call bullshit – you're a fucking priest."

"I am a missionary, actually. This was to be a temporary assignment; God was on your side when you found this church. I am to leave tomorrow afternoon, I would not have been here had you came later."

"Right; so you travel around, do your priest work by day and then strap on your spandex suit and kill monsters by night?"

The look of sheer offense that painted the cleric's face was enough to tell him that he had hit some kind of nerve. Dean noticed something else in his gaze, something so out of place that it shook him from within.

"Christ, you're serious."

"Please do not say that here."

"You're fucking serious."

"You developed Angel wings overnight, how is monsters any less realistic at this juncture?"

* * *

Castiel was becoming frustrated; he had never met a man so convinced of his own worthlessness before. For a man gifted with such a Holy responsibility it was as if Dean didn't believe that he deserved it, as if he thought himself so low that being turned into a personified Angel was a cruel celestial joke. Dean had clearly given up on himself already, now giving the impression that he had expected God to do the same. Despite this Castiel knew that he could not let this man go, let him wander the world without direction. Dean needed someone, anyone that could guide him onto the path of absolution. Without thinking Castiel reached to Dean then, placing his palm flat on his left shoulder. If words would not sway his beliefs than perhaps actions were called for.

"Please, Dean. Stay until sunrise and I will show you the truth."

"And if you can't?"

"I will."

* * *

Determination was in the priest's eyes, that and a sorrow that Dean could not begin to understand. He knew that this holy man would not give him the chance to say no, if his proclamations were anything to go by there was little the priest wouldn't do to keep him there. Resignation swept through him as he turned away from the man beside him – he couldn't look him in the eyes.

"Fine."

"You will stay?"

"Yeah."

He heard the priest let out a sigh of relief and bristled once more. Facing him, Dean figured a little clarification was in order.

"I'm only staying until sunrise tomorrow. You can show me whatever and then I'm out, okay?"

"But-"

"No. If you can't make me a believer I'm high tailing, capisce?"

"Understood."

The priest's hand dropped from his shoulder as they both shifted from one another. It was at that instant Dean noticed the empty feeling in his stomach, hunger gnawing its way through his lower body. Based off of what this Father character had said it had been over 24hrs since he had had anything decent to eat. He really didn't want to ask a priest for some grub but there didn't seem to be any other option at this point. Reluctantly turning to him, Dean was blindsided.

At the center of the man, just below the dip in the front of his rib cage, Dean saw the most brilliant thing. It wasn't so much a light as it was a representation of feeling, transcending color and any descriptive ability. It glowed white hot and luminous, encompassing the outline of the man for a moment. It was breathtaking and gone within the instant it took him to blink. For a second Dean thought he had imagined it, like a Will-o-wisp story from youth or a phantom flicker but when he closed his eyes the imprint was seared into the backs of his eyelids. Furrowing his brow he reached out and gently patted the place he had seen it with his fingertips.

* * *

Dean's expression matched Castiel's confusion when the winged man placed his hand in the middle of his chest. Being a priest he was unaccustomed to touch, the warmth of Dean's fingers bleeding through the thin material of his clerical shirt. He wasn't entirely certain what to do – he lacked a well of experience to draw from. In the end he simply waited for Dean to address the bizarre nature of this sudden physical contact. Before Dean had time to register anything there was a resounding knock on the church door. Dean jerked his hand back as if burned from the contact, clutching it to himself as his expression turned horrified. Castiel knew what it appeared to be, thoughts of betrayal and publicity almost visibly swimming through the larger man's conscious mind. Wanting to make haste so as to diminish any suspicions that might arise in his unsuspected visitor, Castiel grabbed Dean and roughly shoved him into the open Confessional.

Before Dean could cry out in confusion or rage Castiel clasped a hand over his mouth while bracing his collar bone with the other and stared hard into his eyes. Dean struggled for a moment before calming and slowly nodding in some sense of understanding. Castiel didn't remove his hand as he whispered in harsh tones to the man in his grasp.

"Be quiet and Stay. Here."

Castiel moved away from him and closed the door, only then realizing he had placed him in the side intended for Clerical use. Crossing himself and hoping God would understand, he rushed to the door as a familiar voice called out.

"Father Christopher? You in there?"

Swinging the door wide, he only then recollected the blood mucked water on the floor and the questionable state of his attire. When he registered the blood splatters on the ceiling and walls he quickly closed as much of the door as he could. The Lord's Prayer started up in the back of his mind of its own accord as he replaced the expression he was sure betrayed his surprise with one of affection and serenity he reserved for families affected by the creatures he hunts.

"Hello Gabriel."

"Hey Father! You sounded a little distressed on the phone earlier, thought I'd stop in for a little look-see, check up on you and what not."

"I appreciate the sentiment, my child, but I am fine. Now-"

"Are you sure? You look a little…"

Gabriel eyed him over, making an almost pained face. Castiel could not begin to fathom what that look meant, never before having been under such scrutiny before.

"…disheveled."

"Yes, well, it has been…quite a night. Now if you'll excuse me –"

"Does it have something to do with the bird you called about?"

Castiel could feel the sweat slide down his spine as internally he began to panic. He knew he was no good at lying, even obscuring the truth or withholding information seemed impossible with prolonged exposure to the person he intended to fool. This was in part why he made priesthood his day job; it required no lies and seemed almost natural for him to appear in places with tragedy occurring. The two jobs worked almost in tandem to the point he could comfortably do both without the worry of it bleeding through or causing complications. This sudden development was quickly spiraling beyond his ability to handle.

"In a way…yes."

"I see. Well, since I'm an expert and I did come all of the way over here, I might as well come in and –"

"I would prefer it if you refrained."

Gabriel eyed him again, suspicion clearly growing with each denial and omission. Faintly, he heard the sound of a door clicking open and minor shuffling. His heart felt as though it was on the verge of breaking his ribs with the sheer force with which it beat, terror washing over him as the idea of Dean being revealed to the world struck him once more. Gabriel's eyes suddenly traveled behind him as Castiel felt a warm presence near his back.

"Is everything okay, Father?"

Castiel involuntarily froze as Dean addressed him properly for the first time since their meeting. Turning to him then he almost sighed in relief as he saw that he had pulled on the large trench coat he saved for rainy days – totally encompassing his wings and coming off as only slightly eccentric in comparison. The look of worry and distress seemed genuine, nearly fooling the priest as he began to reply.

"Yes, my child, all is well."

"Oh, okay…I was just worried, you were taking a while to come back. I was afraid –"

"Have heart, Dean, I will return shortly. Please return to the confessional."

"Yes, Father."

Inwardly Castiel was amazed at Dean's skill in deceit. Technically neither of them had lied and yet he knew what the scene had implied. From the look on Gabriel's face it had both quelled his fears and been sufficient enough to convince him. If he could successfully convince Dean of his importance he would surely become a useful asset in future hunts. Castiel swiftly dismissed the thought – God had intentions for the winged man beyond aiding him in his crusades. It was selfish of him to hope for more from a man already gifted with a purpose above his own.

"Oh, am I interrupting something, Father?"

"Nonsense, child, you're always-"

"No, no, I was just checking on you. Go back to doing the Big Man's work, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well, I will see you then Gabriel."

The strange look of worry did not escape Castiel's observation.

"Take care, Father Christopher."

"May God be with you, my son."


	4. IV

Castiel closed the door slowly before turning to find Dean struggling with the rain coat. Silently amazed at how quickly he was adapting to having wings, Castiel watched him clumsily try to pull his wings closer and pull the coat off. He had a long way to go, that much was obvious, but Castiel looked forward to the day he could see the man before him soaring through the air with joyful abandon. After his third attempt to dislodge his arms Dean's eyes flitted across Castiel's face.

"A little help?"

"Of course."

Closing the distance and using one fluid hand movement, he freed the winged man and laid the trench coat on the back of a nearby pew. Dean rolled his back, flexing and stretching the muscles before addressing the situation as Castiel knew he would.

"Soo…that was weird."

"It was indeed peculiar."

"Do you normally get surprise midget visits in the middle of the afternoon?"

Castiel tried his hardest not to laugh, suppressing as much as he could while a mischievous smile crept onto his lips. He had to admit – Gabriel was rather small in comparison.

"Not frequently, no."

* * *

Dean noted the guilty smile creeping onto the priest's face. Maybe if he wasn't bat shit crazy he would have considered him a possible friend. Insanity did have a habit of putting a damper on most relationships.

"So, what do we do while we wait?"

"I…was planning on sitting here quietly until nightfall."

"Dude, do you even know what fun is?"

"I-"

"Please don't answer that."

Dean shuffled back and forth on his heels, only beginning to feel the cold of the room on his skin. Rubbing his left arm for warmth, he looked once again at the priest who seemed otherwise preoccupied with his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he began.

"Uh…so, is there any way I can get a shirt or something? It's kind of…the air conditioning really works."

He could visibly see the cleric's thoughts stop dead in their tracks before realization and possibly embarrassment dawned on him.

"Oh! Um, yes; one moment."

The best way Dean could think to describe the cleric's movement was that he skittered across the room. Ruffling through a trunk that had previously been tucked into the corner by the coat rack, he heard a small cry of triumph before the man put everything back. Walking back with his arms hanging flat by his sides, Dean wondered how the world's most awkward man had decided on a job that meant working with people. When the priest handed him the shirt he was immediately grateful, a feeling that did not last beyond its first moment.

"Dude, this is a hippy shirt."

"I do not understand."

"This is the kind of crap tree huggers wear when they back pack Europe – there's no way I'm wearing this."

Clearly frustrated but not about to argue, he snatched the shirt from Dean's hands, storming back to the chest. Trying to suppress a chuckle, he crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall. Dean briefly caught a glimpse of a baby blue t-shirt that was set in what he assumed was the 'no' pile, vocalizing his preferences.

"I can dig a t-shirt."

"Pardon?"

"That t-shirt you just chucked, I can wear it."

"I…doubt that."

"Look, just-"

"Dean, it holds sentimental significance, I'd rather avoid ruining it."

"Wait – oh…uh, sure."

Castiel continued to root through the trunk in silence, a majority of the articles of clothing going into the 'no' pile before Dean thought about what just happened. For something with sentimental value, it was pretty weird to keep it in the church's costume chest. A moment passed, realization hitting him. _'You've got to be kidding me…'_

"Is that _your _costume chest?"

* * *

Castiel flinched at the implications in Dean's voice, knowing an explanation at this point would only make things worse. Still, he replied.

"Yes."

"Dude, I saw at_ least_ one dress come out of that thing."

Heat crept up Castiel's neck and face as he remembered the instances the dress had been used; feeling a need to defend himself without a proper idea why, Castiel did not turn to Dean as he explained.

"There have been occasions where certain attire –"

"A dress?"

"- was unavoidable."

"I don't see how you can be forced to wear a dress."

"Some hunts are easier when you go 'under cover'."

* * *

Dean found the priest's air quotes mildly amusing.

"Where would you-"

"Cross dressing circles, strip clubs, specific formal events, dens of iniquity…There are more occasions than one might imagine."

"Wait, back up – _dens of iniquity_? Are you telling me you've gone undercover in a whore house dressed in drag? You – a priest?"

"I…am not proud of the actions necessary for that hunt's completion."

"Oh, _ho_ – do tell."

"I would rather not."

"I am never going to let you live that down."

"I was under the impression you had hoped our acquaintance would cease after this juncture."

Dean shut his mouth. He didn't know why this priest was so easy to talk to, why in the short time he had gotten to spend with the man he was suddenly so chummy with him. Dean never really had been the 'friend making' type, probably half the reason why the thing with Lisa worked so well. He had no friends to hide her from, no one rooting through his personal life since his brother had gone off to college. This was the first time in a long time he genuinely enjoyed the company of another person and the circumstances weren't exactly normal. Dean watched as the cleric finally found something he deemed appropriate before replacing everything into the trunk and sliding it back into place. Raising and approaching Dean, he handed him something white and vaguely familiar.

"I hope this is adequate."

Taking what he now recognized as an oversized dress shirt, he smiled reassuringly over the fabric. He could work with this.

"Yeah, thanks…"

"Father Christopher."

"Right…uh, you got a shorter name? I'm not sure I want to call you priest all the time and I'm sure as hell not calling you 'Father'."

Castiel's brow furrowed as he appeared to think on it.

"My given name is Castiel Christopher, I do not believe that either name-"

"Cass it is."

"…Cass?"

"Yeah, you know – short for Castiel?"

"A nickname, then?"

"Yeah. Look, if you don't like it –"

"It is fine. It will…suffice."

Dean was getting the distinct impression that Castiel had never been given a nickname before. Focusing on ripping wing holes into the back of the shirt, he figured now was as good a time as any.

"So, while you're still all 'Suzie Homemaker', what are we eating?"

* * *

Castiel remembered the grocery trip he was supposed to have gone on the previous day. Thinking a moment before sighing, he resigned himself to something fast. Indulgence would not change much in the grand scheme of things.

"What kind of take out would you prefer?"

"Oh man, I could kiss you right now!"

Castiel was mortified – first the bizarre physical contact and now kissing? He did not know much about this man, but this was not how he imagined an Angel. Apparently his discomfort showed on his face, Dean chuckling as he continued.

"Dude, relax! It's a figure of speech. Anything with meat is fine."

"Oh…yes, alright. I will order pizzas then."

Two pizzas and three hours of awkward conversation later, night was approaching on the horizon and Castiel was more than a little unsure of the task that lay ahead. Hunting was enough a challenge with skilled hunters at your side, taking someone with no knowledge at all? This night would not be an easy one. Sneaking a peek at Dean while he fiddled with the straps of his weapons bag, he found Dean watching him intently.

"So, what exactly are we hunting?"


	5. V

"I believe it to be a malevolent spirit."

"Let me get this straight, we're hunting a ghost?"

"Of sorts, yes."

"So you're a Ghostbuster now?"

"Pardon?"

The particularly proud smirk immediately turned into disbelief.

"You mean to tell me you've never seen Ghostbusters?"

Castiel hesitantly shook his head.

"Do you live under a rock or something?"

"I assure you, my living accommodations are customarily above ground. I do not see the relevance –"

"Dude, figure of speech."

"Oh."

"You don't get out much, do you?"

"I do not have much time for social outings, no."

"You poor bastard."

Pain and anger flared briefly in Castiel's chest, the insult unwarranted and unverifiable. Meeting Dean's eyes he softened, finding some form of pity and something warmer. He then dismissed the comment as something very 'Dean' and returned to the task at hand.

"The spirit seems to be attacking others who had harmed it in life; so far it has taken eight victims."

Castiel reached into the bag, producing a manila envelope and handing it to Dean. Leafing through it, the priest watched horror blossom into a frown on the winged man's features.

"These are all kids."

"I am aware of their ages, Dean."

"You mean this sick sonovabitch is hurting kids?"

"He was a child as well."

Moving the papers out of the way, he revealed their target to him. Dean's eyes had long since darkened, something painful lurking underneath the dark green surface. In hushed tones, Castiel continued.

"From what I have gathered, Leno was a lonely kid, troubled by bullying from his peers. Apparently his parents and the authorities dismissed his death as an accident, however –"

"How did he die?"

"He fell from the roof of his school."

Dean didn't say anything, his jaw clenching as the priest hesitated a moment before continuing.

"Yes. Again, the interviews I conducted were mostly hearsay, but what I have determined is that he had gone up there to escape the bullies and they had followed him. Things escalated; he was shoved a little too hard and then plummeted to his death."

"How could they think it was an accident? There had to have been witnesses –"

"Other children, Dean; they were either silenced or were not believed. It is not an uncommon occurrence."

* * *

Dean kept thinking about Sam, how he had been treated as a kid. This kid was much like him, so young and his eyes were already empty and sad looking; the idea that his life was taken from him at such an early age made Dean's stomach clench and burn with rage.

"How are we gonna do this? I don't exactly see a proton pack lying around and I don't know any exorcism crap."

"I…Your references are confusing, however you seem to be over complicating this task."

"What?"

"It is a simple salt and burn, nothing more need be done."

"A what?"

"A salt and – oh. My apologies, I forgot your ignorance on the matter. We must uncover his bones, lay salt upon them and then set them ablaze. It is the only way to banish his spirit from the realm of the living."

"Wait, you're saying we need to break into a cemetery, desecrate a grave and then disturb the remains? Isn't that breaking at least a few laws and against your religion?"

Castiel's expression appeared thoughtful for a moment; Dean wasn't sure if he should laugh or be weirded out.

"Yes and no."

Dean waited in vain for an explanation. As he began to shift awkwardly, he was starting to really wonder how this guy was a priest. Sure, he was weird, but this was getting ridiculous.

"You care to explain that?"

"It is against human laws, yes. However, I am protecting the innocent from otherwise malevolent supernatural beings. The God that I believe in would not damn a man for doing his work."

Dean didn't know what to say – no way to agree or disagree when he so blatantly didn't believe in anything supernatural at all. He turned away, not wanting to look at the faith filled man in front of him. He heard a gentle chuckle from the priest but chose to stay silent.

"Your wings make your stoicism…comical."

"Yeah, bite me."

"I was merely making an observation-"

"Well I didn't ask for your input, Rain man."

"Dean-"

"Just shut up."

* * *

Castiel didn't want to push the man, focusing instead on checking the salt rounds. Pulling out a gun and checking the magazine, he heard Dean's wings suddenly stop. Looking to him, he saw the terror in his eyes.

"You're packing heat?"

"I don't-"

"A gun."

"Oh. There are a few, actually. Are you trained?"

"Uh…"

"Perhaps an iron rod would be best for now."

"Since when do guns scare ghosts?"

"The instrument is not for intimidation – I have filled the magazine with salt rounds. They're completely harmless to us, I could shoot you and at worse you will be winded with a very tender bruise."

"Why salt?"

"If used, it can disperse the physical manifestation of the ghost, delaying them long enough to complete the ritual."

"Uh huh."

Castiel continue checking the guns while he listened to the nervous rustle of Dean's feathers brushing together. It was going to prove difficult to transport him in daylight until he learned to better control his wings. In the same thought, Castiel enjoyed being able to read the man so easily. Replacing the last of the guns, he pulled the bag over his shoulder and turned to Dean once more.

"I will load the weapons into my vehicle. After I change into something more appropriate we will depart."

"Okay."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Dean came face to face with his dream woman. Sure, she was a little scuffed up but she was beautiful. He watched Castiel, now clad in form fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt, pat the hood of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

"This will be our means of transportation."

"She's beautiful. Do you get her checked up often?"

"Twice a year, if my jobs permit…she?"

Eyeing over the passenger seat warily, Dean nodded absentmindedly. This was not going to be fun and there was no way in Hell he was sitting in the back.

"Yeah, she…Y'know, cars and ships are always woman."

"Oh."

His first attempt into the car was a disaster, easing one wing in only to get it stuck in the driver's seat while he attempted to stuff the second wing down his side against the door. He watched Castiel attempting to hide his laughter, that sonovabitch. Attempt two was worse – backing up so he could have the joints pointing forward while the rest of the wings rested in the backseat. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the seat belt. That and Dean looking like he had breasts – something Castiel could not stop laughing about. Finally, the priest interjected.

"Try pulling them forward so that you can put your arms on top. The bottom can rest under the dashboard and you can push your seat far enough back that it will not be painful."

"_Really_?"

"It could not hurt to try."

As it turned out, Castiel was a genius. It became readily apparent that this was not only the more comfortable alternative; it was a lot easier to get in and out of the car. Once both men were properly situated, a wry smirk still on the priest's lips, he started the car while Dean hummed at the sound of the engine purring to life. Sure, Cass was a complete ass and probably the strangest man he'd ever met, but the guy had taste. Dean watched Castiel smooth his hands over the steering wheel before murmuring something he only barely caught.

"I had been unaware of your gender, my dear. I apologize for that and any…unpleasantries you have endured from me thus far."

Dean chuckled. Yeah, he liked this guy more by the minute. They travelled in silence for about ten before it became stifling and Dean punched a button. He yelped, which he would never admit, when a woman's voice blared at him through the speakers.

_This is a Gift  
It comes with a price  
Who is the lamb and  
Who is the knife?_

Dean quickly cranked down the volume before shooting his best 'what the fuck' face at the driver who sheepishly looked over before turning back to the road.

"Seriously?"

"The AM show is entertaining."

"You put this classy woman through talk shows?!"

Grumbling, he fiddled with the dial until he struck gold in the form of Led Zeppelin – Travelling Riverside Blues. The song was just beginning and he cranked it back to blaring.

"Oh, Hell yeah!"

Looking over at the bewildered expression on Castiel's face, he was grateful that he was not protesting and still dumbfounded.

"Oh, c'mon! You have to know this one."

"I do not believe I do."

"Dude, Led Zeppelin! They're classic."

"I'm sorry."

"C'mon, you've gotta know it. Sing it with me!"

"I don't-"

_"See my baby, tell her, Tell her hurry home  
Had no lovin', since my baby been gone  
See my baby, Tell hurry on home  
I ain't had, Lord, my right mind, Since my rider's been gone."_

* * *

Dean's voice was pleasant despite the jovial nature of his singing; when the winged man gestured for him to continue he just looked at him a minute before turning back to the road, unsure of what to make of this development.

"Oh, c'mon! You didn't even try."

"I-"

"C'mon – live a little!"

Dean gave him a large toothy grin before he continued to sing.

_"I'm goin' to Rosedale, Take my rider by side  
Anybody argue with me, man, I'll keep them satisfied  
Well, see my baby, tell her, Tell her the shape I'm in  
Ain't had no lovin', Lord, since you know when."_

He gestured once again to Castiel to continue, who just sat there for a little bit until he knew the part that was coming up. He mumbled through the spoken part with difficulty.

_"I-I wonder if you know…what I'm talkin' about."_

Dean's smile got impossibly bigger, nudging the priest to continue while they both laughed and belted the end of the song.

_"She's a good rider  
She's my kindhearted lady  
I'm gonna take my rider by my side  
I said her front teeth are lined with gold  
She's gotta mortgage on my body, got a lien on my soul  
She's my brown-skinned sugar plum..."_

Sobering at the sight of the cemetery gates, he quietly pulled in and took a deep breath. The Lord's Prayer was running through his mind almost unconsciously as he prepared for the hunt ahead. _'Please let this be enough…'_


	6. VI

Castiel helped Dean out of the car, taking special care to ensure his wings did not sustain injury before leading the winger man to the back. Opening the trunk, Dean really didn't know if he should be horrified or in awe. Where the spare tire should sit lay what could best be described as an artillery – filled to the brim with weapons of all forms, ranging from up-close and personal to a distance head shot. He watched in silence as Cass's deft hands set aside an assortment of supplies, cataloguing through the collection with a familiarity he was uncertain how comfortable he was with. Turning to Dean, the priest handed him a bottle of lighter fluid and a Zippo.

"So, I get to do the burning part of this?"

He watched Castiel slip a gun into the back waistband of his jeans before pulling out salt and a shovel. Dean pocketed the lighter in favor of taking the salt canister while he closed the trunk.

"I believe you will find that job preferable."

Dean still wasn't sure why he was following this man, he'd had plenty of opportunities to bolt and yet he was chasing after him into a cemetery to salt and burn a child's bones. It was getting to the point that everything in his life was just becoming some kind of fucked up TV Drama, like he went on a walk and then stepped onto the set of _Buffy_, only he was in the movie adaptation and, in this particular instance, he was Pike. Deep in his mental reverie, he didn't notice Castiel stop until he barreled into the smaller man. _'Dude feels like he's made of bricks…'_

"Dude, warn me –"

"Dean."

Looking beyond the priest he saw him then, the kid from the picture – Leno? It was surreal, he looked exactly the same. For a moment, Dean thought that maybe Castiel had staged it all to make him believe. The thought died in its tracks when Castiel dropped the shovel and fired the gun he was carrying – shooting the kid in the face. Dean froze, watching as Leno dispersed like smoke around the bullet. It took Castiel grabbing the shovel and shoving him before he snapped back to the present.

"Run!"

He was stumbling behind him then, still too shocked to do anything but obey. It was all just too much – the wings, a ghost hunting priest. His life was spiraling out of control and all he could think about was that Sammy would never believe him, the kid safe and sound in his Stanford dorm room. His body watched Castiel begin digging, his mind setting the rest of him on autopilot while it attempted to make sense of the mess.

"Dean!"

That snapped him back as his eyes met Castiel's liquid fire irises. Seeing him pull the gun almost made him freeze again before he noticed the priest's eyes trained on something just behind him; years of a drunken father and bar brawls kicked in as he dropped to the ground in time for Cass to shoot the kid again.

"I need you focused, Dean!"

Castiel's already deep voice now lowered to a growl of frustration made Dean's ears itch; he jumped to his feet and flipped around to look for the child. Turning back to Castiel who had resumed digging, he gripped the poker a little tighter. Thirty minutes and another couple of feet down, Dean saw the kid again. Holding the rod high, ready to swing, something in his mind screamed for him to wait.

The kid looked so lost, sadness pouring from his face and again Dean found himself thinking of Sam. He could hear Castiel calling to him; hear the panic in the priest's voice as he moved closer to the ghost. Dropping the poker, he gingerly reached out to touch the child's shoulder. When he found solid warmth under his touch he pulled the boy close and ran his hands through his hair as he allowed instinct to provide his actions.

"It's been hard for you, huh Leno?"

The child clutched his shirt then, gentle sobs erupting against his stomach while he held the ghost to himself. He really hadn't been thinking when he'd started this, just acted on instinct and now found himself up the river without a paddle. Continuing to stroke Leno's hair, he turned to Castiel for guidance. The small smile on the cleric's face stopped Dean's ministrations, his brain jolting to a stop. Something was in those eyes, something Dean couldn't place and it hurt to look.

Castiel nodded then, urging Dean to continue. Swallowing and thinking for a moment, he pulled away from the kid so he could kneel down in from of him. Looking into the muddy brown eyes of the departed youth, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Everything will be alright."

Trying to further comfort Leno, reassure him that he meant those words, Dean gently ran his hand across the boy's forehead to sweep his bangs from his face. A light spontaneously spilled from his palm and engulfed the world around them. Temporarily blinded with his eyes wide open, the light suddenly stopped and Leno was gone.

Whipping his head around he barely caught sight of the look of total yearning on Castiel's face before it turned back into the gentle smile.

"What just…what the fuck did I do?!"

"I believe you forgave his transgressions, Dean."

"What?"

"You appear to possess Angelic abilities – what I believe happened is that you granted him entrance to the next life, possibly even Heaven."

Dean looked away from the cleric, looking instead in a mixture of horror and fascination at his hands. After everything he had done, after all the deeds he has committed, how could he possess such Heavenly powers? In silence, Castiel refilled the grave before they made their way back to the Impala. Dean looked at the other man then, seeing the obvious signs of a man running on empty; his dark circles pronounced and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He decided against speaking out, sliding uncomfortably into the passenger seat and staring out the window for the duration of their trek back. The only noises between them remained the radio playing rock classics and the sound of the engine purring under Castiel's steady hands as he drove them back to the church.

Upon entering, Dean was the first to break the silence.

"So, uh…where do I sleep?"

Castiel's head moved so fast Dean almost thought he would get whiplash – the hope filled light in his eyes giving them an almost luminescent quality.

"You will stay?"

"Yeah…Yeah, I'll stick around."

"Oh, thank the Lord."

"Yeah, yeah 'Praise be to Jesus' – now where am I sleeping?"

"Oh...um, you may use the couch in my office."

"Sounds like a plan."

Castiel helped Dean out of the button up shirt, taking great care not to touch him Dean noted. Just as he started to settle into the comfort of the couch, situating his wings where they wouldn't be a huge hassle, he heard Castiel shuffling around the room. Peering with one eye, he found the priest packing away what little belongings he appeared to have.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

He sat up properly to get a better look at the situation, Castiel still pulling objects from the drawers and laying them into his duffel.

"I must prepare for tomorrow – we depart for Ohio in the afternoon."

"You need sleep."

"I…will be alright."

Groaning, Dean stood and spun the priest around by the arm before jabbing him in the chest with his index finger.

"**You** need to _sleep_."

Just like that the cleric's eyes rolled back in his head as he almost fell to the floor – Dean crying out and catching him. Cass lay limp in his arms, his breath slow and even despite the hassle Dean was having keeping a hold on him.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."


	7. VII

Dean struggled with Castiel's prone form, wrestling it into the nearby chair before checking the couch for a reclining option. In its stead he discovered a fold out bed, still laid fresh with linen. Fighting once more with the priest's weight before getting him properly situated on the bed, he stretched his back and wings once again. Despite dropping the smaller man twice, dragging him across the floor and jostling him in and out of the chair he did not wake. Dean just hoped that he would at all.

He felt the exhaustion setting into his limbs, even his wings drooped from the need for sleep. He eyed the empty side of the bed for a moment, debating whether or not it was a sin to share a bed with a priest. _'Fuck it._' Dean slipped under the covers beside the unconscious man, soon finding himself claimed by sleep.

* * *

Father Christopher woke from possibly the best sleep he had ever experienced with the distinct feeling of something warm resting on his back. Relishing the feeling for the minutes it took for his mind to fully wake, he soon recognized it as something foreign and his eyes snapped open. The cleric found himself laying stomach down facing Dean, his broad wings draped over the pair and off of the side of the bed.

Panic settled into his chest as he tried and failed to recollect what could have lead to this turn of events. Turning his head slightly he was only partially relieved to find them both fully clothed, a small distance between them but the proximity still unnerving. As he began to fully take in his surroundings he became further relieved to know he recognized them, only sparing a small moment to chastise himself for never having checked for the fold out bed.

Afraid that jostling the Angel's wings would wake him, Castiel turned away from the winged man and resigned himself to waiting. Half an hour passed before he felt the tell tale shift in Dean's wings signaling his approaching conscious state. Turning to face him once more, he was greeted with heavily lidded green eyes and a tired smile.

"You're alive."

"Yes, I am. I do not understand why you would have believed otherwise."

Dean pushed himself onto his forearms, his wings unconsciously shifting down Castiel's back onto his rear. The internal battle of whether or not to mention it to the Angel ensued.

"Dude, I poked you with **one** _finger_ –"

He held his right index finger aloft as if to emphasize the point.

"- and you were out. I had to drag your sorry ass over here and everything."

"Thank you for that."

"Sure, no problem."

They sat there for a few moments, just staring at one another in a comfortable silence. Eventually they untangled themselves from the covers, Castiel making the bed while Dean attempted to slip into the button up by himself. Father Christopher still ended up helping him into it, the winged man mumbling curses and sour words the entire time.

"I feel like a child."

"You'll figure it out in time."

* * *

Dean shifted awkwardly while the priest went about packing the rest of his belongings, realizing full well he would have to don the trench coat once more in order to do the same later. He felt almost reluctant to get his shirts, the idea of ruining them for wear not setting well with him. Perhaps he'd just say fuck it and buy a whole new wardrobe. Realizing that would entitle a shopping trip with his wings and the world's most awkward priest he swiftly dismissed the thought, a shudder traveling down his spine at the lingering image it produced. He was not gonna brace that hardship for a couple of band shirts and flannels. He would just have to solve the open back problem. As the last of Castiel's belongings disappeared into a small suitcase he thought it time to vocalize his thoughts.

"So, I…uh…I kind of need to head back to my apartment."

Concerned blue eyes met his own, his stomach turning over for no reason. Like a ripple, his brow smoothed and realization met his eyes.

"You need to collect your belongings and finish any lingering business."

"Yeah."

"If you can wait until breakfast and my appointments are over we can get lunch on the way and I can assist you."

"Sure, sounds great."

"Then I will purchase breakfast. Are donuts acceptable?"

"Fuck yeah!"

Castiel was gone for 15 minutes before there was a knock on the door. Figuring the guy just had his arms full but thinking better of just answering the door, Dean pulled the coat on once more and approached the door as the knock came again. Slowly cracking the door he was greeted with possibly the hottest chick he'd ever seen. She was all olive skin and curves, her midnight irises matching her waist long hair. A coy smile teased her full lips as she placed her slender hands onto her jean clad hips.

"You aren't Father Christopher."

"Uh, yeah…He just left, but if you want I can tell him you stopped by, sweet cheeks."

Her laughter was like bells sending warmth down his spine.

"Well, aren't you a charmer? You think I could just wait for him in there until he gets back? I've come quite a ways and it's stifling out here."

She fanned herself to emphasize and despite a nagging feeling of unease he couldn't find a reason to turn her away. Nonchalantly, he shrugged and opened the door enough to let her in.

"Thanks, hot stuff."

As soon as he closed the door he found himself flipped around and pushed against it. The pain in his wings made him cry out as she claimed his lips and started putting her hands in all the right places. It was too much too fast and Dean found himself trying to keep up the pace she was setting with her tongue.

"Fuck, that's a fine Hello."

"I don't like to play games."

Her voice was all throat, so sensual it made him ache for more. Yanking roughly on her silk spun hair while she moaned, he attacked her neck while her hands cupped his ass. As her hands ascended his spine he came to his senses only to find he couldn't push her away. His mind sobered as he slowly became more desperate to dislodge her, her hands getting closer and closer to his wings as she peppered his throat with kisses and bites.

"Give me your wings, Angel boy."

His struggles died as he froze in place. Moments before her hand connected with the gentle down at the base of his wings the door knob was turned from the outside.

"Dean?"

"Cass!"

Her mouth claimed his once again, her flavor intoxicating to a degree Dean could not deny. Quickly he lost himself in her again, his hands tangling in her hair while he only faintly heard the voice on the other side of the door. Grinding into her and moaning into the kiss, he could feel her smirk on his lips. Between kisses she whispered to him words that his brain refused to wrap around.

"Your priest can't save you now."

The kiss deepened, his hands now roaming her again.

"Your soul is mine, Dean Winchester."

His wings forgotten, her hand trailed down his chest before popping the button of his jeans. Glass bursting to his left caused the woman to pull back; his glazed over eyes opening slightly to seek out her heat once more.

* * *

Castiel felt the bite of the glass in his skin as he slammed into the window, tumbling shoulder first into the room. Flipping himself to the crouching position, he saw the green eyed demon face him from her compromising position in front of Dean. Immediately the exorcism rites were spilling from his tongue, his eyes trained on hers as she released the Angel and howled in pain.

From his periphery he watched Dean's expression melt from blind need to horror as he shrunk further against the door. When the final word passed his lips the woman's body flung its head back as black smoke rushed from her. As her body sagged he rushed forward to catch her, grabbing Dean's wrist and looking him in the eyes while doing so.

"Are you alright?"

"I…I…"

"Did she harm you?"

"N-no, she just-"

"Did she touch you?"

"I-I guess, Cass, what –"

"Help me move her to the couch."

He didn't wait for a reply, just waited for Dean to silently comply before situating her and checking her pulse. As expected, he found no signs of life.

"Dude, what did you _do_?"

God help him, he snapped.

"What did **I** do? What did **you** do?! I leave for half an hour and come back to find you entwined with a higher level demon – possibly Lust himself- inside of a church! I knew you were ignorant of the situation but I never thought you a complete fool!"

"What did you expect me to do? She said –"

"After you answered the door to her – something you shouldn't have done in the first place!"

"I thought it was you!"

"Why would I knock when I have a key?"

"I-I don't know! I wasn't thinking!"

"No, Dean, you weren't and it almost cost you your soul."

He watched the winged man tense at that, the words digesting slowly.

"…What?"

"That demon was trying to tempt you so it could lay a claim on your soul."

"Why?"

"I would like to know myself; why you, Dean Winchester?"

Dean turned from his gaze as they sat in silence. Remembering the donuts he left at the door, Castiel rose from the side of the dead woman and retrieved them. Dropping the bag beside Dean on the desk, he returned to the cadaver and begun pulling her into his arms.

"Eat. I will clean up this mess before the parish arrives."

"Wait, let me-"

"I believe you have helped enough. Just…eat the confections. I will return shortly."

* * *

Dean had no idea what to say.


	8. VIII

Dean did as he was told – he ate the donuts and sat quietly in Castiel's office as he went about his business. Despite the door being closed and locked he could still hear the rumbling tones of the priest's commanding voice during his sermon, washing over him like the deepest reaches of the ocean while he allowed his mind to wander. Would his life have been different, would he have been different if he had met Castiel earlier? The disappointment in his blue eyes sliced through Dean like the sharpest knife. He'd only known the guy two days and already he had saved his life twice, no small feat to be sure.

He'd never honestly felt like this before, wanting to make amends so desperately. Castiel was swiftly becoming his only life raft and the idea of being left out at sea terrified him. Hours flew past while the cleric finished his sermon and farewells, ensuring that the church was closed and the fresh plastic over where the window used to be was boarded off he ushered Dean into the Impala while the winged man silently directed him to his apartment. Finding himself afraid of Castiel's anger, he neglected to fiddle with the radio or add sarcastic quips at all, favoring the deafening silence between them. Dean liked to think his fear came from the arsenal in the trunk.

It wasn't until he opened the front door to his two bedroom apartment that he realized why he never invited anyone in; the destitute state of the living quarters only accentuated by the stench of decay, Dean had to give the guy kudos for not gagging upon entry. Peering over to Castiel, he still said nothing as he walked straight to his room to start packing. It took him five minutes to throw his personal effects into a duffel bag, another ten to tidy up his room a bit as his own form of an apology to the landlord for ditching without prior notice.

It was like walking into another apartment when he exited his room, the discarded items and debris cleaned up and in its respected places. Rounding the corner he found Castiel washing dishes in the kitchenette. It was hard not to notice the darkened spot on his back from sweat, his sleeves rolled back and his hands soapy.

"Dude, you didn't have to-"

"I promised my assistance."

"Yes, but after this morning-"

"It was as much my own fault as it was your own. I apologize for lashing out at you, I was frustrated and I should not have taken it out on you."

"No, no! Cass, you were right. I mean, I sprouted wings overnight – I need to learn to be more careful. I may not be one hundred percent sure what the fuck went on back there but I know you saved my life. Honestly man, thank you. I don't know what I would have done or where I would be right now if I hadn't found your church."

"Then we are both to blame – your lack of foresight and my withholding of information."

Castiel's eyes twinkled with amusement as a small smile graced his lips, leaving Dean guessing if that was the closest to a laugh that he was going to get from him. The dishes were done at this point, each carefully arranged in the strainer while the other side drained. Castiel turned to him then, wiping his hands on a towel while his smile grew a little larger.

"This is a learning experience."

"Yeah."

They finished the apartment within an hour, working in a comfortable silence before Dean placed his key in the super's mail box with a hastily written apology on crumpled stationary. They returned briefly to the church to collect Father Christopher's belongings before departing. As always, nothing could be that simple. A loud knock resounded from the front door as Dean exited the bathroom. Looking to Castiel, the priest gestured for him to go back in while he made his way to the door.

* * *

Castiel couldn't shake the nagging feeling that somehow this visit was connected to the last. Reaching into his robe, he wrapped his left hand around the flask of Holy Water that he always kept on his person. Cautiously opening the door, he was oddly relieved to find his eyes drift down to meet the honey brown irises of his favorite drug dealing pet shop owner.

"Father Christopher, I'm so glad I caught you! I was really worried since I missed your sermon and I knew you are leaving today and all."

"It is good to see you, my child."

"Yeah, you too! Look, I wanted to talk to you about something-"

The smaller man pushed his way into the church, much to Castiel's dismay.

"- because I was kind of losing hope until I met you."

Gently closing the door, he turned to face Gabriel.

"You can tell me anything, Gabriel."

"I know, Father. Look, you know I'm not from around here, right?"

"I believe you mentioned it in passing, yes."

"Well, the reason I left home was because my brother went missing."

"I-I see. Has there been any word?"

"Not for a long time, no; his trail went dead here in New York so I stuck it out. It's been five years since that day and it's only gotten harder."

"You must have faith in the Lord, my son. He will deliver him in time."

"I know that now, but I'd forgotten. I just…wanted to thank you for teaching me that again."

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm actually gonna pick up the search again, too. I think he's waited for me long enough."

"May God be with you, Gabriel."

"Thanks, Father Christopher. Who knows, maybe we'll meet again."

Castiel graced him with a genuine smile.

"I'd like that."

Gabriel gently touched Castiel's hand and squeezed once before he went to the door again. At the last second, just before stepping outside he turned back to the priest on last time.

"You know, you remind me of him. You're both so young and stronger than anyone would give you credit for. Stay well, Father Christopher."

Without waiting for a reply, he exited the church and left Castiel wondering if he had somehow missed something. Dismissing the thought, he knocked on the bathroom door to alert Dean that they were alone.

"You can come out."

Multiple loud crashing noises resounded from within the tiled room, panic settling in his stomach as he swung the door wide. It took all of his carefully built self control not to laugh at Dean – wings tangled on the half torn shower curtain and his body awkwardly sprawled inside of the tub itself. The wide eyed look of terror on his face swiftly turned into an embarrassed rage.

"Dude! You could've said something first – I thought it was someone else!"

"My apologies."

"Whatever, just get me out of this death trap!"

Chuckling softly, he carefully maneuvered the curtain from between his flight feathers while he soothed down each one that was otherwise ruffled. It took fifteen minutes for him to work Dean's wings free, twenty to help the larger man out of the tub without any further incidents. Only when Dean was safely standing by the bathroom door did either man realize that they both really needed a shower. Thinking a moment, Castiel sighed.

"I realize that we are both in a state of uncleanliness-"

"Yeah, I could go for a shower."

"-but if we wait until we reach our destination I can assist you with your wings, which this bathroom is not equipped for."

It took less than a minute for him to reply.

"Yeah, alright."

* * *

They packed the last of everything, loading the Impala before any other interruptions could take place. Sunset was upon them as they pulled out of the city, the nearly nine hour drive from New York, NY to Columbus, OH seemingly elongated by the silence between them. After the first hour passed without so much as a word, Dean had enough.

"Look, Cass-"

"An explanation is in order."

"Yeah – what the Hell happened this morning?"

"Dean, I believe that you are a…special case."

"Really? What tipped you off?"

The reproachful look was noted.

"There has never been a record of an Angel spontaneously coming into existence. I do not know why you suddenly acquired wings as you did, but you are the first recorded case."

"So I really am a freak of nature? Great. Sounds peachy."

"Due to your status of the first and only one, I am under the impression that you are…'in demand', so to speak."

"…What?"

"That demon wanted you, Dean – more than your physical attributes. Do not think I missed what was said, she wanted your soul."

"She mentioned my wings."

"She saw them?"

"No! I mean, I put the trench on before answering the door. I had them hidden and she was all 'gimme'."

"Then this is worse than I thought."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Demons know about you and they are hunting you down. This may have been the first attempt, but it is safe to assume that it will not be the last."

"What're we gonna do?"

"Whatever we can."

Dean couldn't shake the fear that it wasn't going to be enough.


	9. IX

Another hour passed before Castiel decided it was time for all the cards to be on the table. He was tired of secrets – they needed to be on the same page or it could kill them both.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Why do you believe you are not worthy of this?"

It was like a book being slammed shut as you were leaning in to read the fine print, Dean's demeanor suddenly defensive.

"No."

"Dean-"

"No. I'm not- just no."

"I need to know."

"No, you don't."

"Dean, Demons are trying to lay claim on your soul. If you don't tell me, I cannot help you."

"How could you help me?"

"I can let you know what to expect in the future. If it is a past sin I can do my best to provide absolution. I can-"

"Not for this."

"I do not understand."

"No one can absolve me for this."

The strains of Led Zeppelin filled Castiel's ears while he fought to understand Dean. He knew that whatever had happened in the past, whatever he had done was eating away at him and yet he refused to let it go. It was consuming him and he refused to break free of it.

"I want to try."

He didn't know where the words came from but he meant them. This man beside him was important, in possibly more ways than one and Castiel wanted to help in any way he could. In a way he could not understand he felt that perhaps if he absolved this man perhaps it would absolve him too – or in the smallest way it would make that possible. Despite this he didn't want to push him, he didn't want to make him shut down rather than reach out. Castiel allowed his words to linger in the air between them as he gripped the wheel a little tighter, focused on the road a little harder. If Dean needed time, he could provide.

Another hour passed in silence before Dean finally began. His voice was barely discernible from the music, his tone low and pained. Castiel knew better than to touch the dial or interrupt; the smallest shift between them would shatter the little resolve Dean had. This was his chance, Castiel knew that.

"I…I've never confessed before. I suppose it's not weird in this day and age, but it's still strange to admit. I've done a lot of fucked up shit – hurt a lot of people. Hell, I can't even remember half of it anymore. I've lied, cheated, coveted and a lot more. There's too much to get into, but I think if that was all I'd be okay with this. I don't see God holding small mistakes against anyone if he really does exist, he'd be like a Dad or Big Brother – a little disappointed but still loves you with all he's got."

The silence physically hurt Castiel's heart – the hesitation in it mixed with the stark sense of vulnerability. He struggled with the urge to pull over and give Dean his undivided attention.

"I-I've killed someone, Cass, and no one stopped me. She was…she was a whore but she didn't deserve to die like that. No one does. I think what made it worse was that no one ever suspected me. I got away with murder and now God's decided to give me wings. That's…That's fucked up, man. That's really fucked up."

"What happened?"

Castiel's voice startled him, the deep rumble of a whisper somewhere just below the music.

"I…we were an item. Kind of. I met her while I was hitchhiking from my brother's – I think we had a fight or something and I left before he could give me a ride home. We hooked up, exchanged numbers and met up a couple of times a week. I knew she was a prostitute, which never bothered me because we were never serious."

Dean's voice cracked as he fought to keep back the surge of emotions he couldn't deal with.

"The condom broke, a couple of months later I find out that she's pregnant. She thinks it's mine – Hell, I thought it was mine and I went to talk to her about it."

His breath came out in a broken sob then as he held his wings a little closer to himself.

"She fucking termed it – our baby – without talking to me. Apparently it wasn't the first time, occupational hazard and what not, but it hit me. Next thing I know we're on some back road screaming at each other and I just want her to back the fuck up. I shove her, she hits her head on this really jagged rock and stops moving."

Dean had to clear his throat as the tears threatened to close his throat.

"The first thing that went through my head was, 'Oh fuck, I killed her'. I didn't bother checking for vitals because she looked like she wasn't breathing. So I wiped down the prints out of her car and left her there."

He stopped for five minutes before he could continue, still too afraid to face the priest beside him.

"I find out a week later – one week of thinking I was gonna go to jail, thinking 'this is it' before I find out that she was alive when I left her there. I could have saved her but I was too busy worrying about my life to save hers. She bled out alone and probably terrified and I was too chicken shit to step forward and accept the blame for it."

Dean's tears slowly dried as his grief turned into self loathing. As he became angrier with himself his voice increased in volume, the words burning through him until they expelled from his mouth.

"So tell me again that you can _'absolve me of my sins'_. Tell me this isn't some cruel joke from a God with a magnifying glass. Tell me I deserve this, because I sure as Hell don't think so."

Through the entire speech Castiel had stayed silent, his eyes never leaving the road. Dean felt the shift in speed as the priest slowly pulled onto the shoulder of the road, his eyes still denying him a sideways glance. It wasn't until the cleric switched gears, turning off the ignition and leaving them both swaddled in street lights, that his gaze met Dean's. Searching for something to latch onto, some recognizable emotion in those sapphire eyes and failing, Dean waited for the rejection to come.

"I believe that if God had abandoned you it would not have been like this."

"What-"

"Dean, you do not need absolution from me – you have already been absolved."

He couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't begin to fathom the depth of the words uttered from between slightly chapped lips. Something in his eyes changed then, a sadness staining their pristine surface.

"Can I tell you something?"

Castiel didn't know what compelled him to provide his own confession yet he could not deny it. He watched the hesitant nod of the tear streaked face of his companion before continuing at last.

"I am a forsaken man."

"What? I don't…"

"God has abandoned me, Dean. Heaven does not wait for me in the afterlife."

"Why do you keep fighting then?"

Of all the questions Dean could have asked, Castiel had not anticipated that one.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a hunter and a priest. Why do you bother absolving other people, saving them, if you're doomed? Why bother?"

"The same reason you confessed to me."

"I-"

"Absolution; the hope that maybe someday I will be worthy of it."

Dean met his eyes before surprising him once more, reaching out and pulling him into a comforting embrace. He made no move to escape as Dean made no move to ask what he could have done to deserve it. Castiel found comfort in that as the winged man began to softly stroke his hair, leaning ever so slightly into the hug as tears he did not notice began to fall.

They pulled into the church's parking lot feeling lighter than before they had left, unloading the car before Castiel helped Dean into the trench coat. They knocked three times before an older man answered the door, receding hair and tired eyes greeting them before falling onto Castiel. The priest's eyes crinkled into a warm smile as he stepped aside to let them in.

"Father Christopher, it has been far too long since your last visit."

"It has been a while, Pastor Jim."

"Who is your companion? You do not often bring guests with you on your job."

"Oh, yes…"

Castiel set the bags down before gesturing to his winged companion.

"Pastor Jim, this is Dean Winchester. His situation is…complicated. I would prefer to further elaborate when we are both better rested and refreshed. Dean, this is Pastor Jim. He is a dear friend and has helped me on many hunts."

"So you're a hunter too?"

Dean felt a little uneasy when the man began to chuckle.

"I am more of an informant, a consultant if you will. What about you, Dean? Are you a hunter?"

Castiel knew that tone, interjecting before Dean could understand the implications.

"No, he is not but he is otherwise involved. I would prefer-"

"To speak in the morning, yes. I suspect you remember where the rooms are?"

"Yes, Pastor."

"Then I will speak to you both then. Sleep well, Castiel. Dean."

Father Christopher watched the receding figure disappear down the hall before he recovered his cases and lead Dean to his room. After aiding him out of his coat he retired to his own across the hall, sparing five minutes to settle his belongings before collapsing into the bed and falling into slumber.


	10. X

Castiel dreamt of a pillar of light, easily as tall as the Chrysler building and yet somehow alive. There was a shape hidden by the brilliance, something so familiar and yet impossibly foreign that when he woke to a commotion somewhere outside of his room he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream should have meant something to him. Someone outside of the room cried out, a sound he could not discern the nature of even as his body propelled him to the door.

"Cass!"

He acted before thinking of the danger, the need to protect Dean overriding his need for self preservation. Slamming the door open he found his companion's ajar as he rushed forward to offer assistance.

* * *

Dean dreamt of the night before his world changed. He was drunk and delirious, stumbling over air as he made his way to where he left Lisa to die. After he destroyed the Angel, past the point of urinating on the cards and pictures he felt his stomach turn and lurch before he found himself vomiting profusely onto his shoes. Oh well, he'd needed new ones anyways.

A warm hand suddenly was on his back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades while his body expelled the superfluous alcohol from his system. As they whispered small comforts into his ear he did not recognize the voice and yet somehow felt grateful for the lack of knowledge. The gray green eyes that met his when he turned to face his new found companion were familiar in a way he could not place, being intoxicated not helping.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

He didn't remember giving his name, a thought he did not bother dwelling on.

"Yeah. Fine."

He growled his reply out through gritted teeth, his stomach still lurching.

"I don't believe you."

"Fuck off."

The air shifted, the wind getting bitter and cold as the man's eyes darkened.

"Your soul is so beautiful for a man with such little faith."

"What?"

Dean woke to the sound of glass shattering, a sheet of cold sweat across his skin. His head pounded while his eyes darted around the room until they focused and landed on the man in the doorway.

"…Pastor Jim? What…"

The jarring realization that his wings were in clear view immediately woke Dean's sleep fogged mind. Sitting up and turning to face him as quickly as he could his wing connected with and sent the bedside lamp shattering to the ground. Pastor Jim suddenly moved forward, rushing Dean and causing him to cry out as he backed up against the headboard. The winged man heard the footsteps from across the hall, calling out to his companion.

"Cass!"

Just as the pastor went to breach his personal space Dean snaked a hand to his forehead and focused all of his thoughts on sleep. Pastor Jim collapsed onto the ground in front of the bed as Dean's panic filled eyes met Castiel's.

"Cass, I-"

"Are you alright? What happened? Did he hurt you?"

With each question Castiel made his way closer to Dean before sitting down in front of him and leaning forward – looking into his eyes as though he was searching for something.

"Uh yeah. I mean no! I mean…I just woke up and he was there and then he rushed me so I did the sleep thing and well..."

* * *

Castiel's entire body relaxed as he sighed. He had feared that perhaps a Demon or some other supernatural creature had snuck into the church somehow and that Dean was in danger. Despite his fears having been quelled it raised the question of why Pastor Jim had entered Dean's room to begin with. Shifting to take a look, Castiel hissed through his teeth while pain shot up his leg. In the heat of the moment he had ran through the broken glass in the doorway barefoot, further shattering it and embedding the shards into the soft flesh of the bottom of his feet matching the slices in his shoulder and upper arm from the morning before.

* * *

Dean looked in horror at the floor as he noticed the bloodied footprints that lead to Castiel. Meeting the priest's eyes, he couldn't find a hint of pain there. Then again, he couldn't find any kind of emotion which he rationalized as his overcompensating in order to shield Dean from the truth.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"I will be fine."

He watched in a stunned fascination as the priest rested his right foot on his thigh and began pulling shards of glass from his weeping cuts. Sputtering, he grabbed his wrist to stop him from continuing the horrific display. Dean wasn't sure what was worse – the almost methodical manner with which he removed the glass or the vacant expression he greeted him with.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"I've had worse."

He openly gawked at him for a second.

"Dude, that's not the point!"

"I am accustomed to self treatment, Dean. I assure you, I am as thorough as any practiced physician."

"Yeah? What happens if you miss a piece of glass?"

"I will deal with it then."

Dean knew he had little room to talk – he grew up having to treat himself – but it still irked him to watch him do it.

"Look, let me help you."

It was Castiel's turn to look horrified.

"I couldn't possibly –"

"I'm begging you, man – let me do it. I know a thing or two about patching people up."

Dean allowed the 'myself exclusively' to go silently as worried blue eyes watched his face for a moment before the cleric reluctantly offered his foot.

"…Thank you."

"No, Dude – thank you. I probably would have hurled if I had to watch –"

Unlike the exorcizing of ghosts, there were no theatrics involved when Dean discovered his newest ability. There was no flash of light, no dramatic lead up. He touched Castiel's foot; one second the sole was completely shredded and the next it was as if nothing had ever happened.

"Cass?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You were just picking glass out of your foot…right?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay…just checking."

In awe Dean gently ran his thumb over the pristine skin on Castiel's arch, eliciting a shiver. Looking to the confused priest he reached for the second foot. Sure enough, it too was healed. Briefly, he wondered if the effect had even reached the priest's shoulder – he had seen the cuts his rescue had provided him. It seemed Castiel coming to his rescue always caused some kind of collateral damage.

"Dean?"

"I think I just use my mojo to magic away your cuts."

"I don't…"

"I think I just accidentally healed you."

"I see."

Dean couldn't stop himself, he balked.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"'I see'. That's it? Just 'I see'. See what?!"

"I had my suspicions."

* * *

Castiel was steadily getting uncomfortable with the continued contact. Pulling his feet from Dean's lap, he tucked them under himself before elaborating.

"The Angels of the Bible have many abilities, Dean."

Before Dean could interrupt he held up one hand to silence him as he continued.

"I know you do not believe yourself an Angel, but you do exhibit Angelic attributes and abilities. It is merely a logical conclusion to speculate that you have as many."

"Still weird."

"Weird is relative, Dean. We're currently conversing over an unconscious cleric – one you put into the before mentioned condition with a touch. I would think that of all people you would understand that."

Castiel smiled softly at the teasing he had just used, still unsure of the metaphorical ground he stood on. His smile only broadened as Dean's eyes peered over the bed at the sleeping reverend. He silently cataloged the image for later comedic enjoyment, leaving the smile behind and returning to the issue at hand.

"What happened, Dean?"

"I-I don't know. One minute I'm dreaming and then I wake up to a crash; see Jim over there in the doorway. Next thing I know he's rushing me and I just did the first thing that came to mind."

"Am I correct in assuming he saw your wings?"

"Yes."

Castiel was at a loss at what to do. He had known Pastor Jim for most of his life, being the man that had inspired Father Christopher into the title himself. Despite that, this was a matter he was unsure if he could trust him. Thinking for a moment, he knew he had to come up with a plan swiftly. Suddenly, it came to him.

"Help me carry him to his chambers."


	11. XI

While the plan itself was simple and effective – make the man believe he dreamt the entire ordeal – the execution was another story entirely. The dead weight of the unconscious man made the journey next to impossible as both men fought to keep a hold on him while they also attempted to keep him in his current condition. After dropping him onto his cot they sagged into two exhausted heaps side by side.

"Let's never do this again, huh?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Tiredly laughing at the absurdity of it all, they helped and hindered one another in rising before making their way to the kitchen.

* * *

Castiel poured the coffee while he listened to Dean shuffling around behind him. He was not entirely positive how long they had until their host would wake and he was hoping to miss the repeat performance.

"It would be best if you pulled on the coat."

"Yeah, I was just wondering if I could hit the shower first. I know time is short and all but I can feel the last couple of days on me."

"You do smell rather sour."

"Not cool, man!"

He chuckled as he handed the winged man his steaming mug.

"After coffee."

"Amen to that."

Sheepishly green eyes peered over the mug.

"Sorry."

"It is fine."

"You should really embrace contractions – they've been around for years."

"I am familiar."

"Not familiar enough."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The silence they basked in was a comfortable one, minutes ticking away while they sipped their respected cups of morning brew. Castiel didn't want to get into the specifics of the case that brought them here with the looming threat of discovery. Other than that there was little left for them to discuss – the most important issues long since aired out in the Impala. Castiel thought better of dwelling on the exchange as he finished his coffee and rinsed the cup.

"There is something I must take care of before I escort you to the bathroom."

"Um, okay? Need help?"

He chuckled softly at Dean's eagerness to help. Say what he may, Dean was Angelic in his compassion to help others alone.

"Assistance is not necessary…"

"Oh."

Castiel could almost see the disappointment in his eyes, the emotion weighing down his words considerably.

"…but a companion is always welcome."

"Oh, cool. Okay."

He watched Dean unceremoniously dump the remaining contents of his mug as well as the mug itself into the sink before looking at him expectantly.

"Lead away."

* * *

Dean watched the priest grab the container of Sea Salt from the kitchenette before he followed Castiel through the winding halls in silence, deciding better of asking about the odd gesture and instead thinking on the last three days. Everything had happened so fast, from the moment he woke up with the moving lumps to now and he even surprised himself with how easily he adjusted to it all. Sure, he was confused as Hell but he felt safe knowing that he was not alone.

As his mind wandered he found himself thinking about the man from his dream. Was it really just a dream? The man seemed real enough. Focusing his mind on the last thing he said Dean began to wonder if perhaps he had something to do with his current situation only to have those thoughts interrupted when they finally stopped in what appeared to be the well the entire church ran on. Setting his thoughts on the back burner, Dean watched as Castiel opened the lid to the well and pour a portion of the salt from the container onto a paper plate he did not recall the priest grabbing.

_"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."_

As his gravel tones ran over the words he drew a cross into the granulated mineral.

_"God's creature, salt of the earth, I cast out the echo of evil by the living God, by the one true God, by the Holy God, through whom all things have their being. May you be a purified, living, heavenly salt, bringing health for those who believe; may you be a medicine for body and soul for all who earnestly make use of you and may all evil fancies be driven far from the place where you are sprinkled and may all unclean spirits be repulsed by the power of almighty God."_

The cleric drew a well practiced breath.

_"All powerful and eternal Creator, I humbly appeal to your mercy and goodness, to bless this salt, a substance that you have given for mankind's use. May those who use it in good heart find in it a remedy for body and mind and may everything that it touches be lifted from all that is unclean and freed from any influence of evil. All this I ask in your Holy Name. Amen. "_

Dean continued to watch as Castiel then crossed over the water, taking another breath and continuing.

_"God's creature, water of the earth, I cast out the echo of evil by the living God, by the one true God, by the Holy God, through whom all things have their being. May you be purified, living, heavenly water, bringing health for those who believe. May you be refreshment for body and soul for all who earnestly make use of you and may all evil fancies be driven far from the place where you are sprinkled and may all unclean spirits be repulsed by the power of almighty God."_

The winged man was starting to think he knew what was happening, but he couldn't be sure until it was all over. Everything was unfolding like a train wreck – it wasn't exactly something he had been expecting to witness and yet he found himself strangely enthralled.

_"O powerful and almighty Creator, who for man's welfare established the most wonderful mysteries in the substance of water, hearken to this prayer, and pour forth your blessing on this element; may this creature of yours, when used in your mysteries and endowed with your grace, serve to cast out demons and to banish disease. May everything that this water touches be delivered from all that is unclean and hurtful; through your Holy Name. Amen."_

For the first time since the whole scene began, Castiel moved forward so that he was standing over the well before pouring the salt into it slowly in the shape of something – Dean assumed it was a cross.

_"May this heavenly salt and water unite in harmony, in the name of the Almighty God, Amen."_

Dean persisted with his silent observation as Castiel crossed himself before stuffing the plate into his pocket and covering the well once more. He turned to him then, a small smile on his face.

"I am done. Let me-"

"So wait, what was that exactly?"

Dean would have been lying if he had said that he didn't enjoy watching Castiel squirm in place.

"I turned the well water into Holy Water."

"Seriously?"

Dean fought a laugh like a ten year old fought the urge to scratch his chicken pox sores.

"I thought it would be prudent."

"That's kind of awesome, dude."

"Thank you? I just thought showering would be easier on you than attempting to bathe in the stoup."

At this point they had started the trek to the bathroom, Dean stopping for a second as his train of thought derailed violently.

"Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What do you mean? Are you saying that you made the water Holy so I could take a shower?"

The priest seemed to consider his response briefly, tilting his head to the side as he looked at him.

"Partially, yes."

"Why?"

"It felt like the right thing to do, especially with your wings. Are you displeased?"

"No, just confused."

Dean subconsciously pulled his wings closer so that the wing joints rested at the back of his neck, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes.

"What is bothering you, Dean?"

"Again with the contractions? What do you have against them anyway?"

"Dean, what's bothering you?"

"I just…I don't get it. Why me? Why are you doing all of this for me?"

"Because you are a good man -"

Dean snorted at the implication.

"- who has been given something, a responsibility and you need help. You** are** a good man, Dean."

"Dude, you've known me for three days and you know what I've done. How can you still say that with a straight face?"

"Because more so than anything else you show compassion for complete strangers; no matter who they are you seem compelled to come to their aid and you do everything you can to help. You have been gifted with Angelic powers by God. What more proof do you need?"

Dean didn't know what to say - couldn't think of a clever retort or bring himself to process the words Castiel had gifted him with. Instead he turned his mind back to the night before everything changed and the gray-green eyed man.

"I uh…speaking of my newest appendages, I kind of had a dream about it. I'm not sure if it's a memory or relevant or whatever, but there was this guy and he said something weird to me."

"Tell me from the beginning."

Nodding, Dean leant awkwardly against the wall before he began. It didn't take long, moving from his drunken night to the description of Lisa's memorial before and after the demolition and finally to the mysterious stranger.

"He was…around our age, I'd say, dark hair and hazel eyes. He could probably pass as your brother, to be honest."

"What did he say to you?"

"Something about me being faithless 'for someone with such a 'and I quote 'beautiful soul' – his words, not mine."

"I believe you are correct to assume that he is somehow involved with the situation we both find ourselves in."

There was nothing more to say as Dean silently stared at Castiel's shoes. Of course the first real lead is some guy that he doesn't know and barely remembers. Suddenly, he realized that it's probably been an hour since he put the priest to sleep. Pushing himself off of the wall, he addressed Castiel once more.

"So, shower time?"

"Yes, um…right this way."

Within a couple of minutes Dean found himself peering into a fairly large bathroom with a clawed bath across from a shower stall built for three, the toilet and sink separating them along the wall.

"Dude, this place is huge!"

"He renovated it the last time I was in town, something about having too many guests to have his 'broom closet' of a bathroom. I believe he may have been a little…enthusiastic."

"Right…so, we're taking turns? How're we gonna work this?"

"I was thinking that, to conserve time, I would use the bath while you took the shower."

Dean choked on spit, his tongue and the idea that Castiel would be that naïve.

"Cass, I am not bathing with you."

"I did not suggest sharing the bath – we will be bathing separately."

"In the same room."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"We're both dudes!"

"I do not see the relevance – it is like sharing a locker room. Besides, I need to wash your wings."

"Yeah, but it's weird."

"I believe it would be worse if the Pastor woke up while I was in the shower and you were left alone to deal with his questions."

That shut Dean up.


	12. XII

Castiel still did not understand Dean's aversion to the idea as they faced opposite walls and undressed. They were both men, one an Angel and the other a priest, how was it weird to share a bathroom? Once relieved of his clothing, Castiel eased himself onto the cool tub surface while he adjusted the water to his preferred luke warm.

Listening to the sound of the shower running and the bathtub gradually filling, Castiel cracked his neck and closed his eyes. A bath was going to be very nice.

* * *

Dean, no matter how hard he tried, could not remove the voice in his head continuously reminding him that Castiel was within his wing span, naked and bathing. Why, of all the ideas he could have come up with, did the priest decide this was the best one? Sure, they weren't facing each other but what if one of those ridiculous chick flick moments happened?

Someone drops the soap and ta-da! Full frontal. Could the priest really be that dense? Then again, priests had to swear off their penis or some shit like that; maybe he really just didn't know what the sanctity of a shower was. For a moment, Dean was content with that conclusion. Then Castiel moaned.

* * *

As Castiel eased his way into the perfectly heated bath he allowed a sound of contentment to escape him. The water really hit the spot after the week he had been having. The sudden sound of slipping and someone colliding hard with the shower stall roused him back to a tense alertness, thinking better of turning around only at the last second.

"Dean?"

A groan came from his companion's general direction.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, peachy."

The faint sounds of Dean attempting to right himself filled the room, soaked wings slapping tile ineffectually.

"Would you like me to assist you? I could-"

"No! No, I got it. I'm fine, thanks."

A few more minutes of useless slapping and slipping before silence and the sound of water rolling over a body claimed the room.

"All is well?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Cass. Just…no more porn noises, okay?"

"What?"

"You – never mind. Tell me when you're done."

"Are you –"

"Yes."

Frowning a moment, Castiel didn't push the matter as he washed himself quickly before pulling the plug. It didn't take long to properly dry off and wrap a towel around his waist, realizing only then that neither of them had remembered clothes. Clearing his throat, he addressed his companion.

"Are you ready for me to clean your wings?"

"Uh, yeah…gimme a second."

* * *

It wasn't until he was trying to cover up that he realized he had no towel. Thinking fast he used the spare washcloth to cover his more intimate parts after having a seat on the floor of the shower.

"All stations are a go."

"I take it you are ready?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Castiel finally turned to face his companion only to find a very wet and very naked winged man sitting on the floor just inside the shower door. Heat moved under his skin as he spun on his heel to grab another towel – tossing it to the general direction of the exposed man.

"M-my apologies. Please dry off and have a seat on the toilet. Alert me when you are ready."

With that he quietly feigned interest in the paint patterns of the ceiling.

* * *

Dean chuckled at the flustered sound of Castiel's voice. It figures that it would take action to properly make him aware of exactly how awkward a situation it was. Drying quickly, he straddled the toilet and allowed the towel to simply drape across his lap to prevent it from falling open on him. Thinking a second in the comedic value, he smiled mischievously before dragging the tip of his right wing from the small of Castiel's back to the nape of his neck.

* * *

The soft touch of feathers was strangely electric as they travelled up his back, Castiel tensing until he was statuesque in his stillness. The instant it connected with his neck, however, a sudden explosion of noise occurred in his mind – hundreds of thousands of voices speaking and singing in unison as lights danced before his eyes. Despite the overwhelming urge to scream his throat closed up until all he could let out was a chocked gurgle.

* * *

Dean couldn't help it, he laughed. Sure the priest going rigid and making that weird noise was not what he had been expecting, but it had been damn funny. Removing his wing, he addressed the cleric once more.

"Alright, man, I'm ready."

Nothing happened, the room eerily silent. Dean suddenly felt bad – he hadn't meant to offend or scare the man.

"Look, I –"

As he turned to face Castiel he found him shaking violently, like a child alone in a thunder storm. Mortified, he quickly rose from his seat and moved to him, awkwardly catching the towel before it dropped completely and holding it in place with one arm.

"Cass, man, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to scare you or whatever…"

Still there was no reaction, just Castiel shaking as he faced the opposite direction. Reaching out, he rested his unoccupied hand on Castiel's shoulder.

"Hey Dude, are you okay?"

Nothing, which was beginning to eat away at Dean until worry turned into anger.

"Cass, this isn't funny."

The trembling was beginning to make Dean's arm tingle and go numb.

"Castiel!"

He jerked the smaller man until he was facing him at last. What Dean hadn't been expecting was to be met with the look of tortured hopelessness in the priest's overflowing eyes.

"Cass, I didn't – I'm –"

"It's all so loud, Dean."

"What? Castiel –"

"They're all just…"

If it hadn't been for his hand at the priest's shoulder, he wouldn't have felt his body sag before it dropped. Catching him before he hit the floor, he couldn't stop thinking that he really hoped this wouldn't become a thing. Then he felt the warm sensation of skin meeting his groin and internally groaned. Of course he'd only draped his towel across his lap.

Dean had never been more grateful to be the only person awake in a church as he princess carried the towel clad cleric to his room while being unavoidably naked himself. If Pastor Jim didn't have any, he would be investing in a robe. Not that he was planning on forgetting his clothes again. Or staying long for that matter.

After getting fully dressed Dean cleaned the mess of broken belongings from his room, hoping to avoid further calamities. It took another hour before Castiel stirred, Dean having been perched on a chair at his bedside.

"Hey Cass, how're you feeling? You kind of passed out on me back there."

"I had hoped it had all been a dream…"

"Hoped what had been a dream?"

"They're all so loud."

"Cass, you're not making any sense. Who's being loud?"

Dean's inner Sam described Castiel's face at that particular moment to be 'childlike bewilderment'. Dean's precise description was 'telling a five year old the Easter bunny isn't real', because it didn't hold the sheer desperation or magnitude of Santa Clause, but it was too surprised to be at the Tooth Fairy level.

"You can't hear them?"

"Who, Cass? Hear who?"

Dean regretted having to ask as desperation and fear that he had previously lacked distorted the priest's face. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a little sadness there too.

"The Angels, Dean."

"What Angels?"

"All of them."

"What?"

"I can hear them all, every single one."


	13. XIII

"So what, you hacked into Angel radio or something? With your mind?"

"I-I don't know, Dean. They just came to me all of the sudden."

"Well, what are they saying?"

"I don't know."

Dean didn't miss the contractions and, for reasons he could not delve into, they terrified him.

"How can you-"

"They are all talking at once; it is hard to hear what they are all trying to say."

"Well, pick one."

"I…I do not know how."

Dean had never been so happy to hear Castiel's overly precise way of talking. He wasn't sure what was happening but he certainly didn't like that everything seemed to be getting weirder as time passed. Four days and now the only constant in all of this was hearing Angels in his head. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

* * *

Despite the noise and distraction, Castiel was glad to note that Dean had put on the trench coat as he registered the sounds of footsteps in their direction. He tried pushing the voices into the back of his mind like a silent prayer but some voices were more insistent than others, pushing through the carefully made confines.

"Where has our brother-"

"The seals-"

"Lilith-"

"Lucifer is –"

"The cage –"

"-he has Fallen –"

"Father, I seek guidance –"

"Zachariah –"

"The Righteous Man is safe."

A blissful silence resounded before all of the other voices grew infinitely louder once again in praise and prayer. Castiel's head was pounding from the strain of it all, yet somehow it was more comforting than the silences he had become accustomed to. The priest was relieved that the new noise was something he was more trained to handle, years of having a prayer of his own playing at the back of his mind finally becoming more than just a habit as Pastor Jim opened the door.

It was then, as he watched the priest before him observe the situation that he realized exactly how compromising the position was. Once again, Dean came to the rescue.

"Pastor Jim."

"Hello Father Christopher. Dean. What is going on here?"

"I happened by the bathroom and heard a loud noise – I'm guessing that Ca-Father Christopher either slipped, knocked himself out for the count or he fainted from the heat."

"I see."

"Yeah, so I wrapped him up and brought him back to his room – didn't want him getting sick or drowning, you know?"

"Yes, I see. How are you feeling, Father?"

Despite the obvious problem having passed, Castiel still felt nervous as both pairs of eyes became trained on him.

"I…have a slight headache but am otherwise fine."

Half truths, Castiel decided, were much easier than lies.

"I see. Well, when you are…more presentable, I would like you and Dean to meet me in the kitchen. I feel there is much we need to discuss."

As Pastor Jim went to leave and Castiel attempted to extend a courteous gesture by standing to walk him from the room. Instead, Castiel found himself falling face first in Dean's chest while his legs gave out from underneath him. Like clockwork, Dean's arms wrapped around Castiel's back to support him and the Pastor fled the room.

* * *

After they discovered Castiel to be weak at the knees, Dean awkwardly helped him get dressed before aiding him to the kitchen. They found the priest sitting at the table with a skeptical look on his face and a cup of what Dean assumed to be coffee in hand. As the pair eased into their seats the Pastor began.

"I would like to discuss a dream I had last night if it is alright with you."

They shared a knowing look before nodding to signal for him to continue.

"It involved you, Dean. For some reason you had Angel wings despite the fact that you do not seem particularly holy to me."

"That sounds like a really weird dream, Sir."

"Indeed it was."

He sipped his coffee noiselessly.

"How about we discuss what brought you both to my doorstep instead."

* * *

Just as Castiel went to begin, something stopped him. Something was off, something important but with all the noise in his head he couldn't focus long enough to place it. Then a voice rang out above the others.

"A priest has been compromised."

A chill ran down his spine as his blood ran cold. There should have been doubts in his mind, a rationalization that Pastor Jim wouldn't but there wasn't. Instead, he automatically realized that a deal must have been struck – it would explain Pastor Jim's odd behavior and why the Holy Water would do nothing to him. As his thoughts grounded him to the present he noticed the confused look Dean was shooting his way and the expectant stare of Pastor Jim. His mouth clicked shut for a second - another half truth, then.

"There is a Demon after Dean, although the motive is unclear the fact that it is after him at all is enough to warrant constant protection."

"I see."

"There is another case about an hour from here – a suspected Djinn attack in Zanesville. I could not stay in New York and Dean had no ties there so we mutually agreed this to be the best form of action."

Stealing a glance Castiel was relieved to find that Dean had caught on.

"Yeah, Cass promised to show me how to fight back and stuff."

"Cass, huh? Well, it seems to me that this…arrangement is mutually beneficial for you."

This was the second time Castiel found himself uncomfortable with the Pastor's implications.

"This is the only way that guarantees Dean's safety. I would not have been able to teach him enough to be safe within the day and a half we made acquaintance in."

"You're being oddly defensive, Father Christopher. Do not fret; I do not judge others for their transgressions."

The silent 'Only God judges Sinners' rang through Castiel's mind like a siren. He seethed quietly while the cleric stood and rinsed his mug.

"You are both permitted to stay on the grounds that you do not bring anything back here. Father, you know the rules."

"Yes, we will oblige. Thank you for your kindness, now if you will excuse us."

Gracelessly, Castiel rose with Dean quick to follow and assist him back to their chambers.

"So, a genie?"

"A Djinn, yes."

"Do they really grant wishes?"

"There is little lore to draw from, to be honest. I cannot say for sure."

"If they do, would you wish for something?"

"No."

Castiel didn't need a moment to think, answering instantaneously. His knowledge of the stories that did exist was enough to decide that for him – a Djinn's wish never ended well for anyone involved.

"They are tricky creatures – finding any loop hole they can to turn the wish you ask for dangerous. It would be unwise to accept a wish from one."

"So…when will we get down to hunting it?"

"I should be better rested after tonight; I fear this development has taken a toll on me."

"Yeah – about that. Are you still…"

Castiel noted that the gesture was vaguely similar to the one to symbolize someone being crazy.

"Hearing Angels? Yes."

"Right. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes."

Castiel did not know where his certainty stemmed from but it was a relief to him. Just as they reached his bedroom door and Dean turned to leave, Castiel stopped him short.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Cass?"

"Do you still need assistance with the coat?"

* * *

With all that had been going on, Dean hadn't expected Castiel to remember. Not to say he wasn't grateful, just pleasantly surprised. Getting the sucker on was a real pain in the ass.

"Uh, yeah, actually…Thanks."

They used Castiel's room for the removal, a groan of relief escaping Dean's lips as he felt the uncomfortable restrictions finally lift. As he stretched his wings in the still too small space he felt knots and kinks in the muscles pop and pull, making him wince.

"I never did get to help you clean them."

The gravel tones of his companion grounded him once more.

"There's always tomorrow."

"…I could rub out the soreness for you now, though, if you would like."

Turning to face the tired eyed cleric he found a small smile gracing his lips.

"I am guessing you are a little tense from being confined for so long today."

Dean couldn't think of a reason to say no, so he rubbed the back of his neck instead.

"Yeah, sure…that sounds great, thanks."


	14. XIV

That's how Dean found himself shirtless, face down and being straddled by a priest. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for how good the wing massage was – eliciting borderline pornographic moans from the winged man. He never thought he'd be so grateful for Castiel's naivety, already bright red and hoping the priest didn't get a perverted epiphany.

For an awkward man, Castiel had strong and deft hands. He methodically rubbed and soothed each wing, with a gentle care only seen in an artist or someone who truly loved what they did. Dean felt himself being lulled to sleep by the feeling of the oddly calloused hands of the priest and the smell of him on the pillow.

For the second time in five days, Dean woke up in a foreign bed with another man. He couldn't remember exactly when he fell asleep, but as he stretched his wings leisurely he noted the relaxed nature of each muscle. He really needed to find a way to thank Castiel – for putting up with his sorry ass and for helping him out. Even when Dean confessed he stayed, something that he had never thought possible.

He silently allowed his eyes to wander over the sleeping form beside him. As he had initially observed, Castiel was an attractive man. His mess of almost black brown hair on top of his head that could only be described as 'sex hair', his pale skin that was not sickly in pallor rather an ivory or porcelain. The only thing that marred his features was the deep bruises under his eyes, likely from sleep deprivation.

Dean watched him a moment before he noticed the frowning in his brow, the slight shake of his head and the gentle shivers running through his shoulders. When Dean reached out to the sleeping man, wondering what he was dreaming and hoping to distill the unpleasant manner of it he gasped before taking a plunge into the dream.

* * *

Castiel dreamed of Heaven. He couldn't explain how he knew the Technicolor field he shared with a man flying a kite on the summer breeze was Heaven, but he knew it without a shadow of a doubt. This was someone's Heaven, his favorite among all others. He felt his dream self shift, finding himself a passenger in his own body.

"Brother, please listen to reason!"

He recognized the British accent of his brother's vessel. Balthazar. The name came to him with relative ease.

"Balthazar, I do not plan such important decisions on a whim. You know my reasons are sound."

"Yes, but-"

"Brother, please."

He turned then, facing his brother for the first time since the dream began and feeling a surge of sorrow at the sight of him. His usual calm buoyancy was discarded, his appearance disheveled with mild desperation painted clearly across his face. He knew that Castiel did not want to do this – whatever this was – but he was perhaps the only one who knew why he must.

"Father has abandoned us and the Apocalypse looms on the horizon. If Raphael has his way there will be nothing left."

"Michael –"

"-is missing. You know this as surely as you know Gabriel will not help."

"Then why you?"

He felt a surge of pride and affection, something that he did not understand out of context.

"Because Father gave me the task of saving the Righteous Man, so save him I shall."

He watched as Balthazar's fight died, a lone tear making its way down his cheek.

"You always did follow Father's orders so well."

"I will continue to do so, Brother."

"I will miss you, my little Thursday."

"As will I you, Balthazar."

It was then, as Castiel reached for his chest that he caught sight of Dean – standing inconspicuously off in the background yet as violently out of place as a neon sign advertising iniquities in front of a church. He was not supposed to be here, this facsimile of a memory mixed with a dream as the realization sent the world around them into turmoil. The colors became distorted and distant as everything warped and began to run together.

"Cass!"

Dean's voice rang out as - despite his constant eye contact - he was suddenly there beside him, grasping his left forearm where it met his shoulder. There was a flash of light, an all encompassing warmth and suddenly Castiel's eyes flew open and he found himself lying on his back in the borrowed bed. The change was jarring, but nothing in comparison to when he turned to face his companion.

"Dean?"

The Angelic man flinched, somehow seeming afraid of the priest for a reason he could not comprehend. As he pushed himself to a seated position he noticed a tightness in the skin where Dean had touched him in the dream. Upon further inspection, he finally understood. Where his white t-shirt had once covered his shoulder was now partially missing and singed, fully revealing the handprint of a scar where Dean's hand had been. He didn't dare think, didn't dare breath as he attempted to register what it could possibly mean.

"I-I didn't – I just…"

He allowed his eyes to stray from the newly acquired mark for a moment, looking into the terrified green eyes of the winged man.

"I was – you were –"

"Dean."

"Cass, I…I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what-"

"Dean, please calm yourself – it is fine."

Horror spilled into the moss green pools.

"Dude, I **burned** you! How can that be _fine_!?"

"It does not hurt."

"It'll scar and whether or not it hurts is beside the point!"

"It is fine."

He could tell Dean was just waiting for Castiel to berate him with harsh words but the words never came.

"Dean, what happened?"

Again the winged man flinched. Cautiously, he continued.

"I was dreaming and then you were there. What happened, Dean?"

"I-I don't know. You looked like you were having a bad dream-"

"You were watching me sleep?"

Castiel wasn't sure why he found this vaguely amusing, but as he watched Dean squirm he thought the teasing was worth it.

"S-shut up! I was – you were – look, you were twitching and I wondered what you were dreaming. I go to wake you up, touch you and all of the sudden I'm watching you and some British cat –"

"His name was-is Balthazar and I assure you-"

"Figure of speech. Anyways, you were arguing and it looked like you won but…"

"But?"

"Then you reached your hand into your own chest and started screaming."

He frowned then; he had no recollection of that, but perhaps that explained Dean's sudden location change.

"Next thing I know, I'm grabbing you and wake up here with your arm all finger painted with a burn."

Experimentally, Castiel ran a finger along the edge only to have his breath hitch as a bone deep buzz coursed through him. Quickly removing his hand, he looked anywhere but Dean only to have his eyes land on the clock on the far wall. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face before addressing Dean once more.

"Dean, it is 3:15AM. I think that, for now, the best course of action is to sleep."

"I guess, but-"

"Separately, in our own respective rooms - we can discuss everything in the morning."

"Yeah, but –"

"Please, Dean. I'm tired and just as confused as you are, but we need rest and plenty of it before our hunt tomorrow."

The reluctance in Dean's nod was obvious, a dejected droop in his wings clear as he exited the room leaving Castiel alone with only the warm impression of wings in his bed and the smell of the larger man's after shave on his pillow.

* * *

As Dean slipped into his room he remembered to lock the handle before sliding in between the cold covers. He couldn't get the burn out of his mind, the mark he left on the only person he had right now. Castiel seemed genuinely unfazed, even as he stared in wonder at it for the first time. As he stared at the ceiling he couldn't stop thinking how lucky he had been for once.

What he had found that night five nights ago was possibly the first real friend he'd ever had. Sure, Ash was cool and Bobby was like the father he never had, but he never could have trusted them with something like this, not like Cass. He took everything in stride, one thing at a time. As he stretched his wings luxuriously, he silently sent thanks to Castiel for everything before closing his eyes. Once more he was claimed by sleep.


	15. XV

The dream picked up where it had left off the night before – the man standing before Dean with the angry gray green eyes. The man laid on hand his chest as Dean drunkenly swayed and went to turn away.

"Don't turn from me!"

The command was terrifying and he found himself obeying before his inebriated mind could catch up with why.

"Keep your eyes on me and don't you dare look away."

Finally he understood why the sight of Castiel reaching into himself seemed so familiar and horrific. The man was wrist deep as a white heat was spilling forth and he fell to his knees. Despite everything in Dean screaming for him to run he went to him then, grabbing him by the elbows and slurring questions into his ears. Suddenly the eyes were on his once more, now blinding in their luminescence.

"Prove me wrong, Dean Winchester."

Dean didn't see the hand slam into his own chest, missed the man splinter and disappear as his head was thrown back in a glass shattering howl. There was warmth, a burning and a feeling of peace that ran so deep Dean could do nothing but succumb to it as darkness suddenly crowded his vision and he woke to sunlight filtering through the covered window of his borrowed room.

* * *

Castiel woke two hours after Dean left, wide awake and yet exhausted. Spending a few minutes staring at the ceiling as he listened to the chorus of Angels in his head, he grudgingly rose and collected his clothes for a shower. After yesterday, the priest was none too keen on a repeat affair. It didn't take long for him to be in the shower with the water running down his frame in comforting rivulets. He tested the silken skin of the raised hand print on his shoulder, his body involuntarily shivering as the buzz returned. After a few minutes he decided he would investigate further at a later time, removed his hand and finished the shower.

In the kitchen he found that he had spent 45 minutes under the water, something he had never done before and frowned. How did time slip from his so swiftly? He rummaged for a cup only to find the one Dean had used the morning before. Along the entire cup was words scribed in Enochian – the lost language of the Angels. Then, in the center on the front in big red letters were the words, "It means 'to mate with the mouth of a goat'" while the back had in slightly smaller red letters, "It's funnier in Enochian." He had never seen the cup before although he had a feeling he was the only one in the church that would genuinely find the joke on it funny. Using it and nursing his morning coffee, he waited a few minutes before wandering to the water garden in the back of the church – the serene sound of trickling water perfect for his stretching routine.

* * *

When Dean finally got around to pulling on the trench coat he stumbled out of his room to find Castiel's door ajar, his room abandoned. The winged man tried to quell the fear of abandonment as he made his way to the kitchen. He had never been more relieved to see ready-made coffee – the one sure fire sign of the priest. Rationalizing where the priest could be, he grabbed a plain white cup, filled it and wandered the church.

There was a slight tugging on his subconscious, like an urge or a hunch that Dean followed blindly. When he walked out of the back door of the building he dropped his coffee and choked on the mouthful he had only just gotten. There, in the grass in front of him, was Castiel doing some kind of hardcore yoga shit with his face snuggled up between his thighs. When the priest was alerted of his position he smiled apologetically and slowly detangled from himself.

"Hello Dean."

"Dude, were you just – did I just – don't you 'Hello' me! Where did you learn that?!"

Still uncoiling, the priest replied with an almost bored tone, as though it was perfectly normal and he had no inkling as to why Dean would be so flabbergasted.

"At one point in my life I found yoga to be a rather enjoyable hobby. I got in a mountain bike accident on a case, had to get an X-ray of my spine due to the severity of the injuries and they discovered that I have a birth defect. Apparently my bones do not lock as they should, so they cautioned me against 'extreme stretching' and even yoga because I run the risk of possibly paralyzing myself for life. I stopped for a long while and even now I only do it when I feel the need to relax."

"That's…"

"I do not expect you to understand or sympathize with my lifestyle then or now."

"Right…"

* * *

Castiel went through his wind down stretched before paying attention to Dean again. He didn't know why the felt the need to defend himself, perhaps the way the winged man had looked at him or the way he seemed genuinely surprised by the position he was in. Dismissing the thought, he turned to Dean at last.

"Shall we discuss the case?"

"The genie, right?"

"The Djinn, yes."

"You keep correcting me."

"Most genie stories suggest a bottle or an inanimate object with which the creature resides - that is not the case with Djinn."

"So what are we looking for then?"

"They customarily appear as a human with tattoos or scarification."

"Well, that narrows it down."

"Considering that we speak of rural Ohio, it honestly does."

"Alright, then how do we kill the fucker?"

"You must drive a blade made of silver coated in lamb's blood into a vital organ."

"That's straightforward."

"It is, actually."

Dean gave him an exasperated look, one he had become quite acquainted with over the last business week. Again, Castiel explained himself.

"There are a fair number of supernatural creatures that are extremely complicated when it comes to killing them. Take Dragons for example-"

"Whoa, wait, back up – Dragons?"

Castiel almost laughed at the look of disbelief on Dean's face as he watched his wings squirm awkwardly under the coat.

"Yes, Dean, they do exist albeit differently from most fiction."

"You mean fire breathing, scaly dragons, right?"

"Yes."

"Wow…so what's it take to kill them?"

"A sword forged with the blood of Dragons."

"Uh-huh."

"There are only five or six in existence, most of which are lost."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, such as Saint George's Sword, the Sword of Brunswick and Excalibur to name a few."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I assure you, they are all facts."

"Next you'll tell me fairies exist."

"Well-"

"You know what? No."

"But-"

"No."

Castiel couldn't help himself as he began to laugh. The appalled look on Dean's face only fueled the fire, throwing the priest into hysterics.

"This totally isn't funny, Dude!"

"I apologize; I realize this must be –"

Laughter bubbled up again as he caught another glimpse of Dean's face.

"-very traumatic for you."

"Shut up!"

Dean's tone sent him into another fit before he was able to reign it in once and for all. A few deep breaths later he gently rubbed his sore cheeks before patting Dean's shoulder and walking back into the church.

* * *

The touch on his shoulder reminded him of the new scar on Castiel's. His body sagged with guilt, his eyes dropping to the grass at his feet only to make him remember the forgotten mug that lay there. Swiftly grabbing it, he stumbled after Castiel.

"Um…H-hey, Cass?"

"Yes Dean?"

"How's the…how's your shoulder?"

Cass turned to him, his blue irises boring into his as if he was peering into his soul. He searched his companion's face for even the slightest hint of pain but only found concern.

"I am fine, Dean."

"You sure? That looked –"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah…okay."

"You do not believe me."

"I…Look, let's just focus on the mission."

Again Castiel's eyes seemed to be searching for something, leaving Dean to turn his head to avoid his careful stare.

"Very well; I will take our mugs and deposit them into the sink, please change into something more…formal - I will meet you in the Impala."

"What? Are you saying this isn't good enough for a case?"

Dean gestured at his band shirt and jeans, only then realizing how awkward it looked under the trench coat as he handed over the mug he had been holding loosely in his left hand. He could swear he saw a smirk on the smug Priest's face, but it was gone before he looked back.

"It may come off as a little…inappropriate, yes."


	16. XVI

Dean woke up disoriented with the distinct feeling of a warm body pressed against his own. Stretching a little and rolling his back, he groggily moved closer to the heat and the pleasure found in encompassing it. It took a whole of 45 seconds for his brain to realize that his wings were gone and the only person he could currently be spooning was Castiel. His eyes snapped open as he harshly propelled himself away from his sleep partner, effectively throwing himself tangled in all of the blankets onto the floor.

There was a strangely feminine groan, a shifting on the bed above him and a sudden light that attacked his senses. As his eyes adjusted he froze, horror and awe washing over him in equal parts.

"Lisa?"

This wasn't right, it couldn't be happening. Lisa was dead, she was…

"Dean, baby, what's wrong? Was it another bad dream?"

"B-but you…and I was…"

"What are you talking about? Sweetie, come back to bed, it's freezing."

Trying to stand and put as much distance between himself and this horrible delusion, Dean slipped on the blankets before landing heavily on his ass for the second time that morning. The sound of a baby crying out resonated from the far corner of the room – his old room, he came to realize. As if it was completely mundane, Lisa yanked the blankets back onto the bed with another groan before curling into her own warm impression.

"Ugh, you woke up Ben – you get to get him back to sleep."

"…Ben?"

It must have been the tone that caught her, his previously dead bed warmer turning to him with annoyance and concern in her sleep deprived eyes.

"Yeah, Ben; you know, our son? Are you okay?"

It was like working on autopilot, his body moving of its own accord as he rose from his position on the floor to the crib. There, nestled between blankets and plush animals, lied his son. When Ben's tiny, blue-green eyes met his, the cry died in his infant throat as his face melted into a smile.

With trepidation he reached his shaking hand into the crib and ran his fingers through the child's black peach fuzz – his child's peach fuzz. There was a soft coo before the boy closed his eyes and the magic of the moment ended with an almost pained exhale on Dean's part. Something had a vice grip on his chest and he needed to escape. As quietly as he could, he rummaged through the drawers in the nearby dresser before throwing on the first complete outfit he found followed closely by the dusted leather jacket that he found over the back of a nearby chair. Somehow finding that rather than the trench coat that he had grown accustomed to made the tightness even worse.

He crept past the now sleeping Lisa, apparently having decided Dean was just being stupid, making a move to the door before remembering what Castiel and he had been hunting before this whole Twilight Zone episode began. As silently as he could he searched through the kitchen until he found the old silver set his mother had owned when they were children. Memories of failed scolding about the dangers of the dinner knives in the set resurfaced as Dean located and pocketed two. He knew it was a long shot, but he vaguely remembered Lisa loving lamb so he checked the fridge for thawing lamb chops.

For possibly the first time in a long time, luck appeared to be on his side. Pouring the vague amount of blood and melted fat into a water bottle, Dean hoped it would suffice as he replaced the lamb and went to leave the apartment. One key ring hanging next to the door stopped him in his tracks, somehow ridiculously familiar despite never having owned a car in his life.

"There's no way…"

Upon reaching the previously unused parking structure he found himself face to face with Castiel's baby. It was slowly becoming some kind of Inception bullshit – his life until waking suddenly seeming like a nightmare and the sweetest dream by comparison. Swallowing his fears, he knew he needed to get answers, he needed to find Cass.

It was strange how easy it was to recall the location of the destitute church, like going home despite the lack of a lasting connection. Pulling onto the road, his stomach dropped. What was once a sleazy, red light district now stood fresh developments waiting for their apple pie owners to make a home of them. His only chance of making sense of it all was gone as surely as he had thought of it. Dean was beginning to suspect that he was well and truly alone.

Making a mental list of the people he met with Castiel, he soon realized with a shocking clarity that he had never acquired the one thing that would make any of them useful – a last name. Reluctantly, he turned the car around and tried to remember the way as he drove to Pastor Jim's church. The eight hour drive seemed more like days as the sun made its way across the horizon.

Within the first hour his phone began going off, startling him when he could not recall when he had grabbed it in the first place. At the first and only rest stop he bothered with, only after filling up and checking his tire pressure he scrolled through his missed calls. Three from Lisa, two from Sam –no shock there – and one from… His finger stilled on the directional button. There was no way that could be right - their mother had died in a house fire when they were kids. She couldn't possibly…

God help him, he couldn't bring himself to dial the number. Instead, he shut off and pocketed the device before sliding into the driver's seat and pulling away. He barely recognized the church as he pulled in, his gut twisting further into knots as he tried to make sense of it all. The building was abandoned, weather worn and boarded from the public. Where he remembered flowers and fruit bearing trees now stood weeds and petrified Joshuas.

Despite the outward appearance he couldn't bring himself to believe it to be true, he had to see it from within with his own eyes. He cautiously approached the building, keeping one hand on the handle of one of the silver knives as he vaguely remembered reading somewhere about coyotes being native to Ohio. What had originally made him nervous now set a deep fear in his belly as he used his elbow to break in the kitchen window.

Hoisting himself in through the window he knocked a cup over, sending it crashing to the ground. The instant he saw it he knew he wasn't crazy. There, in pieces on the floor, was the cup he had used two mornings prior – the mug with the joke that wasn't funny, something about Enochian and goats. He would have recognized the bizarre symbol typography anywhere.

"Cass, man, where are you?"

Dean wasn't sure if he should be worried or frustrated so he stuck with both as he made his way through the destitute halls to where he remembered Castiel's room to be, hoping for a clue of any kind as to know how to get back. Upon reaching his destination, he found the door ajar as it had been the morning prior to this one, it was hard for him to keep the hopeful feeling inside of him in check. Despite the dust and debris, it was as he remembered. There, on the nightstand, was the note Castiel had insisted they leave with the address of the warehouse they suspected to be inhabited with the Djinn. Once again Dean fought with his memory for the slightest clue as to what happened. He remembered the ride in the Impala in vague impressions and the idea that it was enjoyable…

Something shifted in his periphery, making him tense up and spin around with the blade drawn only to find a light behind the closet door. Cautiously, he approached while a pit in his gut threatened to swallow him whole before he threw caution to the wind and almost yanked the door off its hinges in his eagerness to end the suspense. There, in the insect addled space, hung two dilapidated human bodies on the verge of mummification. They almost resembled morbid versions of those Kool-Aid juice packets that he drank as a kid only to re-inflate them and blow air and small droplets of the liquid onto his younger brother. He felt the food in his stomach curdle at the comparison, the feeling only becoming more acidic as he went to back away and ran into something.

As he turned to face the body between him and the room, he found a sickly thin girl no older than fifteen, bags under her eyes and dirt spread unevenly across her frame. Like a weakened television signal she flickered out, leaving him alone in the now pitch black room.

_"They are tricky creatures – crafty and sly. It would be unwise to accept a wish from one."_

Castiel's words wrung in his head, realization dawning on him as his eyes fixed on the rumpled sheets of the abandoned bed. Was this all a result of something Dean had wished? But what could it have been? Certainly not Lisa keeping the child; he regretted the whole mess, yeah, but he had never loved her in a way that was necessary for him to want this kind of future. He would rather have Castiel, damned or not. Then he remembered his mother's number on his Caller ID. Surely it couldn't have…Deep in his heart he knew the truth, yet the idea that one person could change the outcome of his entire life so drastically was daunting. His mother surviving that freak fire, a loving childhood and possibly a normal life.

Sam's life probably, by comparison, changed very little having never witnessed his father's drunken abuse and was given the closest thing to a normal childhood already – Dean having taken on both parental roles to spare him the pain. He vaguely wondered how their mother surviving had changed their relationship. Were they close at all? Dismissing those thoughts, he clutched the paper in his hand as made his way back to the car. He couldn't afford to think about Sam, not now, not when Castiel might be out there somewhere hurt or alone.

The thought alone unsettled him. Sure, he hardly knew the guy from Adam but he's saved his sorry ass, taken him in when no one else would have and continued to treat him like a human being – granted, a celebrity. Castiel didn't deserve whatever this wish had done to him. Starting the Impala and putting her in drive, he didn't dare touch the dial as he raced off to find the fucker that screwed up his mess of a life seven ways to Sunday.


	17. XVII

Pulling into the area he vaguely remembered the warehouse being in, he felt despair closely followed by resolve. Sure, this place was basically nothing but abandoned warehouses but the Djinn had to be in one of them. Hell, as far as Dean knew half were probably made to dissuade him from even trying; fat chance. He fought to remember the morning before, the gut feeling that led him straight to Castiel and hoped that he could get it to work now. Admittedly he didn't know the mechanics behind all of it and was lost as to what the Djinn even looked like –

_"They customarily appear as a human with tattoos or scarification."_

Castiel was becoming like the little voice in the back of his head, the person keeping him sane in a world where nothing seemed real anymore. Thinking on the last few hours he found himself dwelling on the girl from before. She had been trying to tell him something, show him something. Instinct told him that she was the latest victim and that's when he felt the familiar tugging at his subconscious – similar and yet infinitesimally different.

Not wanting to spend another minute in this world with the ghost of a woman he had never loved, he set his pace to a borderline run. It took fifteen minutes to find the warehouse, another five to break in noiselessly so as to not arouse the Djinn's attention. He had never suspected the Breaking and Entering charge on his rap sheet would have come in handy until now. Who'd have thought being a delinquent growing up would help his work for God?

He clutched the knife a little tighter, unsure of what to expect and nervous for it. He crept along the hallways and through the abandoned rooms, hugging the walls in an attempt to prevent the creature from sneaking up on him. He followed the gentle tugging until he stumbled upon a room that just peering into made him physically ill.

It was like a scene from a B Rated horror movie, anorexic thin girls hanging from the ceiling by their arms, their blood being drained into a bag attached to their jugulars. He saw a ghost image then, the room from another perspective – their perspective by the look of it – that was gone as soon as he blinked. Dean felt the stairs above him creek as someone, something, made its way down them.  
At first glance, they looked like the world's record holder for the most tattoos – no part of the exposed skin was spared. He felt his stomach recoil and twist as he watched it pull the needle from the girl from the room's neck ad sucked on it like the fucking juice box he had compared them to barely an hour previous. Distracted by fighting the urge to hurl, he almost missed the girl's low whimpered words.

"Daddy…"

Its eyes became luminescent, the deep royal blue color of energy pouring forth almost making Dean think of Cass all over again only to find himself appalled at the comparison. Castiel was nothing like this beast as it raised its light covered hand and ran its fingers across her forehead. Only broken sobs escaped her lips as she once again went still and it replaced the drip feed. Still, that one word uttered on sorrow filled lips made Dean think. Why, of all the things she could have said, did she say 'Daddy'? It wasn't a cry for help, not a plea; not the kind you would expect.

In that moment Dean had an epiphany. It was not violent or jarring, just the pieces finally clicking into place and him suddenly realizing why he woke up this morning in a bed that was no longer his. The sound of footsteps approaching resounded from somewhere behind him, his body turning to face the approaching group as he found himself looking on the faces of loved ones alive and lost. First came Sam, tall and lanky as always with a sad smile marring his face.

"Hey Dean."

"Sammy…"

"You just…you couldn't stop digging, could you? Too many good things and you just couldn't handle it."

"This isn't real, Sammy. I'm hanging from some dingy ceiling like one of them –"

He gestured to the girls still suspended by lengths of rope.

" – and that monster is bleeding my dry. As far as I know I may be dead in a few hours."

"Oh baby…"

His body stopped and Dean found he couldn't breath as he heard that all too familiar voice from behind him.

"It might be hours out there, but it could be years in here, honey."

The hand on his shoulder broke him from his paralysis as he turned his head to face his mother. She was as beautiful as he remembered if a little more aged.

"You could have a long and happy life here, honey. You could watch your brother become a lawyer, get married and start a family."

Stepping out of the shadows to his left came Lisa holding their baby boy in her arms. Ben was facing him, wide awake with worried eyes and his wisp of black-brown hair sticking obstinately up.

"You could be happy here, Dean. You could have the family you've always wanted, be with your loved ones."

Somehow it was Lisa that made him realize that he had been considering it. Taking one step away from his mother, away from everyone, he pulled the knife from where he had concealed it in his sleeve.

"Dean…"

"What about Cass?"

He looked around the room to faces lost on what to say.

"Yeah, I thought so."

Figuring his instinct had got him this far, Dean listened to his gut and ran the knife into his chest.

* * *

Castiel knew it had been a bad idea to let Dean go on a supply run on his own. When he got the phone call about Dean finding an abandoned warehouse a couple of miles from the restaurant Castiel had briefed him in and the farm he had collected the lamb's blood from, he'd begged the winged man to wait for him only to have the other line go dead. Three hours had passed since then, the cleric searching frantically for his charge. When he found Dean hanging from the ceiling hooked up to tubes and ashen he did not bother bottling up his fear.

"Dean! C'mon….Dean, listen to me! I need you to be okay, please!"

Using the knife liberally coated with lamb's blood, he cut Dean down and bent over him to remove the needle that still protruded from his jugular vein. He didn't notice the Djinn until it grabbed him by the back of his clerical shirt and threw him into the trolley covered with surgical equipment. He didn't cry out, didn't notice the scalpel imbed itself in his shoulder blade as his adrenaline kicked in and he stood only to have it toss him onto a nearby stairwell. The creature was on him, its eyes and hand glowing a dangerous shade of royal blue as Castiel fought back and tried to remember where he had dropped the knife.

* * *

Dean's vision was blurry as he desperately tried to stay awake, his entire body aching. Like he was in a trance, he slowly picked himself up from where Castiel cutting him down had left him and he stumbled to the only blood covered knife he could see.

"C…Ca…ss…"

Barely able to shamble two feet in his weakened state, he tripped on air and fell, sliding the blade to the floor beside the priest's feet.

* * *

Kicking the blade within reach, he let go of the Djinn's glowing arm long enough to grab the blade and drive it home into its skull. Like someone flipping a switch the creature stopped glowing and dropped onto him.

* * *

Dean watched the priest kill the Djinn. As relief flooded his synapses and blackness encroached on his vision, he hoped that the girl was alright before falling unconscious.

Dean woke much like he did the first night he had met Castiel – in a foreign room with a strangely comforting feeling of someone carding their hands through his feathers. Unlike that day, he hummed lightly as he recognized the priest's calloused hands and the bed spread as the one from the borrowed room in Pastor Jim's church. Burrowing his face further into the pillow he sighed contently despite being straddled by a clergy man.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

He hadn't been expecting the dry croak that came from his lips.

"So you are awake at last."

"Yeah…"

There was an audible shift in the way Castiel was sitting, the feeling of him adjusting himself above Dean, signaling something important was about to be said. Dean strained his ears to hear the low whisper the priest graced him with.

"Dean…I…I don't think we should do any more hunts. Not like that, anyway."

The winged man turned slightly under the weird of the priest as he peered over his shoulder in an attempt to get a better look at him.

"What's wrong, Cass?"

"This last hunt…I almost lost you, Dean. You've been out for at least three days – I was considering raiding a hospital to put you on an IV drip."

"But I'm fine now."

"But what if next time you aren't? What happens if this happens again and the creature finds out about your wings? We can't guarantee what could happen and I am no betting man."

Dean knew that tone, another argument there was no way to win.

"How was the girl?"

"Pardon?"

"There was a girl there with me, maybe a couple of days older; fifteen, mousy – did she make it?"

He noted the hesitance in the priest's pause, almost as though he had to think on it. What was there to think about?

"…Yes."

* * *

Castiel listened to the content sigh come from the body beneath his own. Somehow that made the lie feel that much worse.


	18. XVIII

Dean woke up the next morning feeling rested but sore as he stretched his wings leisurely. In that moment he remembered Castiel, three days into his mini-coma(apparently) and the priest was massaging his wings and grooming them to ensure no lasting damage from hours under the trench coat. Somehow the awkward priest he had met by chance was the kindest person he had ever known and yet his wish had cost him that one good thing in an alternate reality. Despite that revelation it was hard to believe that had all been just some dream induced by the Djinn. It was all too real, too possible for it to have all been mindless fabrication.

Involuntarily he shivered, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach and a loneliness that was too severe to ignore. Sitting up he found himself stripped with a fresh pair of boxer briefs, knowing full well he had been wearing black – not navy blue – the day that he stumbled into the Djinn's den. Geez, he wasn't sure whether he should add that to the list of things he still had to figure out how to thank Cass for or make it ground rule #1 of travel. As he worked his way into pants and the trench coat, he decided to worry about it after he alerted the priest of his condition.

He knocked gently on the door before entering the priest's room, not bothering to wait for a reply he knew that with him he had nothing to worry about interrupting. The first thing he noticed was the strangely distressed state of the room, clothes tossed on the floor with careless abandon, books and papers strewn across the space while bloody bandages lied in and around the waste bin near the bed. He almost missed them before doing a doubt take just to confirm his eyes were not playing tricks on him. Sure enough, the bandages remained.

His eyes darted to the wall clock then, his brain racing with ideas of where he would find Castiel at 12:37pm. It wasn't until he stopped long enough to read the clock that he heard the harsh, uneven breathing from the bed. He hadn't realized that he had been avoiding laying eyes on it until he honestly looked at the mound of covers that lied on top of it, barely moving despite the violent nature of the breaths coming from somewhere underneath.

"Cass?"

As he had expected, there was no answer, not even the smallest sign of acknowledgement as he cautiously approached. He couldn't believe how dark the small room was, the blinds closed as far as they would go with only vague light filtering through. There were at least three comforters on the bed, each pattern vaguely similar but entirely different in coloration. Standing half a foot from the bed he finally caught a glimpse of his friend, only the mess of sweat slick hair protruding and in view as the priest lied on his stomach away from the winged man.

"Cass?"

Gingerly, he reached out and pulled the blankets down enough to reveal a flushed shoulder. Concern overriding his brain, he reached out and gently shook him only to rip his hand away from the fire hot flesh. The smaller man groaned, feebly moving to pull the covers back on as Dean ripped them off entirely. Had he been paying any mind to the priest's attire, he would have noticed the awkward hilarity that was their matching underwear and sleep attire in general, but instead his eyes were drawn to the ugly scene that unfolded across the cleric's back.

There was a clearly infected gouge on Castiel's right shoulder blade, the skin bursting with pus and discolored an angry red. From there down was decorated with some of the largest bruises Dean had ever seen, each in varying states of recovery while others seemed fresh despite their age. On the backs of his thighs there were clear marks where the stairs had dug into flesh during the battle, one elbow was tore open possibly from colliding with the railing. Even with Dean's untrained eye he could tell that the priest had made no move to properly treat any of his wounds.

"Dude…"

"Dean…"

The raspy voice sounded like it hadn't been used for a while something he was surprised he hadn't noticed the night before. Dean sat down on the bed beside the cleric only to have the man move away to face him. He was obviously feverish, his eyes glossy and slightly dull while his face appeared almost sun burnt with which he was flushed. Dean reached out to him onto the have the smaller man flinch away.

"Cass, you need to have that cut cleaned – the infection is really bad."

"I'll live."

"Dude, no. I'm not letting you just suffer in silence. Let me help you."

"I do not want you accidentally healing me."

"What are you talking about? So what if I-"

"You don't get to choose what scars I keep, Dean."

"I never said I did!"

"If you healed me there would not be any. Please…I need this."

Castiel seemed so pale, so small in comparison to the man he had grown accustomed to over the last week. Despite that, Dean understood the idea of needing the scars, needing a reminder of past mistakes. Dean couldn't agree with the idea that somehow the whole Djinn situation was the priest's fault, but he swallowed his argument as he nodded stiffly. Like a puppet free of his strings the priest sagged into the bed with a relieved sigh, almost appearing to be in the process of being swallowed by the bedding. Dean skittered his hands over heated, clammy skin in an attempt to assess further damage.

"A cracked rib, borderline blood poisoning due to infection, fever of 101 degrees, slight internal bleeding that will heal on its own and three strained muscles that should recover in a week. The rest of your lacerations appear to be superficial, two of which will need stitches without counting the one on your shoulder which is bone deep."

Dean didn't register the voice as his own until the cleric's eyes snapped open in confused awe. The winged man didn't know where that came from only that it was accurate and possibly one of the most bizarre manifestations of his powers yet. Somehow the return of new abilities turned out to be such a relief that Dean could not stop the flood of laughter that forced its way from him. He fought to calm down, knew how inappropriate it was, but as soon as he caught a glimpse of the weak smile on Castiel's lips and the bewildered look in his eyes it started him up all over again.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but as soon as he did he looked around the room again. Sure, there were obvious signs of bandaging having occurred, but that was it. No other medicine, not even food.

"Cass, have you let Pastor Jim help you at all?"

"No…I did not want him insisting on taking me to the hospital. I have survived worse beatings, so…"

"So you just decided to do self treatment until you were too weak to get out of bed? Jesus, have you even tried to clean it?"

"I do not appreciate your use of his name, but I will have you know it is beyond difficult to do when I am incapable of seeing it on my own."

Exasperated, Dean sighed as he dragged hand over his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry about the Jesus thing. Where's the First Aid Kit?"

"I have one in my bag, but most of the dressings have already been used."

"Right."

Dean found the duffel on the other side of the bed, most of the contents strewn across the floor save the Kit haphazardly thrown inside. Looking through, he found some of the equipment he would need – peroxide, bactine, a needle and spool of fishing line that he knew was a Castiel addition, cotton swatches and sports tape. Most of it was not exactly what he had in mind, but they would work.

"Turn back onto your stomach."

Dean yanked the covers off of the bed altogether to make room for him as Castiel rolled onto his stomach in the center of the bed. The winged man wasn't sure if the boxer briefs were hiding any other wounds, something he had not thought about until he was presented with the idea of having to straddle the cleric. Rather than just checking or sitting and hoping for the best, he figured asking was the least awkward solution.

"Anything under those boy shorts I should know about?"

"I am certain we share anatomy in that regard."

"Dude, I know that – I meant wounds, you ass."

"Oh…no, I am not wounded there."

"Good to know."

He arranged the supplies on the right hand bedside table before throwing one leg over the priest and settling in. Looking back at the infected wound, he swore and got back off.

"Sorry, I'll try to make this the last time."

"It is fine."

He dug around the room until he found a dagger and the discarded towel from a few days ago. It smelled a little musty, but for now it would have to do. Climbing back onto the bed, he found himself worried that Castiel might fall asleep during it all.

"I'm climbing back up."

"Proceed."

Laying the towel to the side of Castiel's right shoulder, he took the blade in hand.

"I'm gonna be cutting the wound open to flush out the infection."

"Very well."

"This might hurt."

"Alright."

"A lot."

"I understand."

If not for the uneven tempo of Castiel's breathing, the room would have remained silent as he reopened the six inch cut along the priest's shoulder blade. Almost instantly yellow green puss began pouring out as Dean set aside the blade and grabbed the towel. He remembered his childhood of similar wounds and treatments as he dabbed the infection away before applying pressure to the sides in order to further drown it out. It took four minutes before the puss-blood mixture came out pure blood, Dean quickly grabbed the bottle of peroxide and poured.

He felt the priest flinch from beneath him, heard the gentle hiss from between clenched teeth. Dean tried to rub comforting circles in the non bruised flesh as he waited for the bubbles to subside.

"Sorry, man, I know this sucks."

"I am fine."

"You know, I think I'd be more convinced if you weren't talking through your teeth."

Castiel let out a half sob chuckle and Dean felt a little better knowing he could make the priest laugh despite the circumstances. Three times of pouring later, the peroxide produced no bubbles so he replaced it with the needle and thread before whispering softly to the cleric.

"I'm gonna start stitching now, alright?"

"Okay."

Castiel's voice had gained an entirely new edge, an almost broken depth from the pain or the idea of being properly patched up, Dean wasn't sure. He held the needle and spool in one hand as he wiped off the peroxide with the towel. Silently he hoped that his skills would be enough.


	19. XIX

Beginning at the top of the cut, he tried to work as quickly as possible only to find his fingers shaking so violently that he realized he would have to wait between stitches so as to not cause unnecessary pain for the priest. Dean winced for every hitch in Castiel's breath, each gasp or whimper. It took him fifteen minutes to finish the entirety of the incision; Dean whispers soft encouragements and murmuring gentle things to him all the while. In the end, it wasn't as even as he would have liked, or was it in any way nice to look at, but it was an improvement from when he first saw it. Applying the bactine with one hand, he searched for some Tylenol or any fever reducer in the First Aid Kit. No dice.

"Dude, do you have anything for your fever?"

"I do not customarily come down with illness."

"Should I take that as a no?"

"Yes."

Dean ran a hand over his face, exasperated and completely at a loss. Even when he was a kid he at least had the proper medication on hand to speed recovery. Grabbing the cotton swatches and sports tape, he began to dress the wound as he addressed the priest once more.

"You think Pastor Jim will have any?"

Only silence and a slightly evened breathing greeted him. Finishing the dressing, he eased off the super heated priest and turned the smaller man onto his side. Sure enough he was sound asleep once again.

"Son of a bitch…"

He remembered Sammy again, his kid brother telling him that if someone falls asleep when treating a wound you're supposed to make sure they're breathing or else you have to perform CPR and he knew he wasn't qualified for that shit. Swallowing thickly, he turned him back onto his stomach and took this opportunity to reopen and flush out the other two large cuts – one on the small of his back and the other on his left tricep. Another hour was passed with stitching, something that did not get easier with practice or Castiel's slumber. He shakily finished and dismounted again, pulling the blankets once more to cover the priest before steeling himself and preparing to seek out the Pastor.

He was dreading the idea of having to talk to the man who, since day one, had something against him. Granted, the idea that Castiel did not disclose his condition with the man did not escape his notice, but it still bothered him that the inherent mistrust was obvious. He slipped back to his room where his clothes waited, pulling on the first things he found with the trench coat following suit. God, he was so not ready for this.

* * *

Castiel dreamed of the day he had been assigned the Righteous Man's protector. It was a Thursday, three Thursdays before he was schedules to be born to be exact. When Michael had come to him he had not understood the quiet desperation in his eyes, the determination in his brow. He had tracked the seraph down to his favorite Heaven, to the endless Tuesday afternoon with the oblivious man and his kite. Castiel had been watching the bees that day, each one unique in its own way as it collected pollen for honey.

The flutter of wings signaling another Angel's presence, Castiel rose to his feel before turning to face his visitor. He had not been expecting Michael to be the one to call on him, trying valiantly to hide his surprise but suspecting that he had ultimately failed. He met the cold, gray green irises of the Archangel before addressing him.

"Hello Michael."

"Hello Castiel. We have much to discuss."

* * *

Dean found Pastor Jim standing before the large crucifix in the front room of the church where Sermons were held. The quiet manner with which the cleric stood was almost unnerving, the winged man found himself mentally hoping that he would just do something. As Dean opened his mouth to address him, the Pastor pulled something he had only ever seen Castiel do – address him without ever facing him.

"So you finally woke up."

"Uh, yeah…"

"Welcome back."

The man turned to face him then, a genuine looking smile on his lips despite Dean's impression that it was forced. He didn't like it.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, um-"

"Good, good. Where is Father Christopher? I had thought he would be rejoicing and watching you like a hawk after the scare you gave him."

"Right, about Cass - he's not feeling too hot. He's got a pretty bad fever and his First Aid Kit doesn't have anything for it. You wouldn't by chance –"

"I believe I have some Nyquil gels, let me get them for you."

Relief washed through Dean as the tension left his body all at once. Castiel was going to be okay.

"Thanks, man, I really appreciate-"

"No need to thank me, my child-"

Dean's eye involuntarily twitched.

"-Father Christopher is a dear friend of mine, I watched him grow up. I would do anything for that boy."

It was then, just as Dean took one step forward, that the priest spun around and threw a lit match at his feet setting a ring of oil he had not noticed before ablaze. Looking around himself as he became surrounded, panic settled into every ounce of him.

"Raphael! I have him."

* * *

Just as Michael opened his mouth to speak the dream around him froze and Balthazar came rushing into the dream.

"Castiel!"

The French man took a look around the dream before he seemed to understand what he had interrupted.

"Oh…Oh, so you're remembering your previous occupation, hmm? Well, I hate to disrupt this moment of reminiscing but your little friend is in a bit of a row."

"I don't-"

"Look, Raphael is royally pissed at Michael for what he did and has come down to take the winged monkey of yours and throw him into a cage until Doomsday. So, I suggest you click those ruby slippers and go rescue his sorry ass from that 'friend' of yours."

"Balthazar, I-"

"We'll talk later, brother. It's time for you to wake up – they're in the Chapel."

Before Castiel could get a word in he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder and the world around him went black.

* * *

The church felt as though it would shake apart around them, white light poured in from every window as Dean tried to yell above the din.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

"I have summoned the Archangel Raphael to come and reclaim you."

"Reclaim me? Dude, I was never his to claim in the first place!"

"You were the instant you rebelled and escaped Heaven, seeking shelter with Father Christopher. Did you think I was too ignorant to figure out what you were? I saw your wings, fiend."

"I'm not an Angel!"

"He said it!"

The church doors flew off their hinges to reveal the one person Dean had thought he would never see again. It took him a moment, enough time for the sandy brown haired man to saunter up the aisle, before the name came to him.

"Gabriel!?"

* * *

The instant Castiel woke from his fever dream he tossed aside the covers and grabbed the knife on the bedside table before moving as swiftly as his legs would carry him to the Chapel. Silently he berated himself for being so careless. He should have known better than to trust Pastor Jim after learning of a compromised priest. He had initially hoped that there would have been more _time_, clearly an error of judgment on his behalf. If they survived this, it would not be a mistake he would make again.

It wasn't until he was almost to the door that he honestly took in his surroundings, the unnatural quake of the world around him and the white light spilling in from every window. Just as one exploded to his left he threw open the door and plunged inside.

* * *

"The one and only, kid! Now just sit still a minute, I've got some work to do."

There was a ripple in the world around the smaller man and a shockwave that caused all of the windows and lights to explode. It was then that the wings unfurled from Gabriel's back, wings of all sizes and shades numbering somewhere over one hundred. Dean's legs gave from under him as he looked at the man's wings, deep honey gold each flexing and moving of their own accord. Gabriel snapped his fingers and Pastor Jim was thrown into a wall and held in place, one beat of his massive wings and suddenly the ring of fire was extinguished.

Dean had not registered the doors behind him opening but suddenly the wiry frame of Castiel was at his side, hauling him to his feet. He openly stared in disbelief as Castiel gave Gabriel one of the most venomous stares he had ever seen.

"What are you?"

"That's a fine hello to the guy who just saved your butts! Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"No! Cass, can't you…can't you see them?"

The priest turned his still haggard looking face to him, his eyes murky with confusion.

"See what, Dean?"

"It's…Gabriel's wings, Dude. Gabriel's an Angel."

"Archangel, if you want to be Biblically correct."

The proximity of the interjection made both men jump, looking up to find Gabriel at the edge of the ring burned into the floor. As he addressed Pastor Jim, still on the wall as the shaking of the building became more violent, he laid his hands on their foreheads.

"Tell Raphael to go fuck himself."

Then the world was ripped from underneath Dean and his vision went black.


	20. XX

Castiel was furious. He had been lied to, led on, toyed with and now taken to some remote location by something that he at one point thought he had known.

"What's going on?"

"Whoa, don't set your phasers to kill! Relax already, I told you that I saved your sorry asses, isn't that-"

"No. What have you done to him?"

The priest gestured to the now sleeping form in his arms. Deflating a little, Gabriel sighed.

"Look, bro –"

"I am not your brother."

"That's a bit harsh coming from a –"

Then Gabriel looked at him as if for the first time, realization and disbelief washing over his face.

"Wait, you still don't remember?"

"You are the second person to ask me that today. Remember what, Gabriel?"

"Oh you've got to be kidding me. It wasn't...Oh, this is just rich."

A snap of his fingers and he was holding a chocolate bar while he paced the room, eating it between mumbling to himself. Castiel cautiously laid Dean on the floor before approaching him, half afraid of him now that he witnessed some extent of what he could do. If he really was an Archangel as he said, what did it mean? Why was Raphael after Dean? Just as he was close enough to tap Gabriel on the shoulder the smaller man spun around. Eyes twinkling excitedly, he snaked a hand to Castiel's forehead.

"It'll be like riding a bike."

That was all the warning he received before images began flooding his mind, flashing before his eyes. The day he was born, truly born and not birthed; the beginning of the sun, the moon and the planets. He remembered being at a shoreline watching a little gray fish heave itself up on the beach, an older brother saying, "Don't step on that fish, Castiel; big plans for that fish." He remembered Cain and Abel, David and Goliath, Sodom and Gomorrah. Finally, Castiel remembered the night Michael came to him with his mission.

He watched as Michael, in his true form, pulled the beautiful star from his robe and explained to him that he must stay close to this child no matter the cost. This star, this soul was to be the Righteous Man, the human who was destined to save creation. Reverently, Castiel held the brilliant soul in his hands, reveling in how small it seemed by comparison, and he whispered to his brother, asking its name.

"His name is to be Dean Winchester and he will be your charge."

* * *

Gabriel watched and waited as the light slowly faded from his brother's eyes. He hoped he had made the right decision, done the right thing waking up this sleeper cell. From what he knew of him, Castiel had always been a good soldier. Even now, with no recollection of his past position he fought the good fight and vanquished evil. Of all the Archangels, Gabriel had always prided himself with being the closest to everyone – Archangels and Seraphs alike. He still blamed himself for Michael's disappearance, for Castiel having to fall to save the Righteous Man. Stealing a glance at Dean; he couldn't believe that he'd missed it before.

* * *

Castiel came to feeling infinitesimally older and more confused than he had felt in a long time. All those years spent in service, working for a cause bigger than anything and even now he couldn't escape it – just following blindly and believing in his Father. The priest, ex-Angel gently rubbed the bridge of his nose. Somehow being human had been much simpler when he thought his life was just a mess and not something so much more.

Looking at Dean, part of him hoped the Angelic Man would open his eyes and just take them both back to the morning he last remembered. Shifting in his spot on the hardwood floor, he finally took in his surroundings. Castiel had to give Gabriel credit, for a spur of the moment shift he had picked an ideal location.

"Well, I may not be the most responsible but I do know how to hide out with class."

"I would appreciate it if you refrained from –"

"Cass, no offence, but I didn't even need to do any Jedi mind tricks for that one. You're just a huge open book. Seriously, it's pathetic."

"Gabriel."

"Oh calm thy tits – we've got shit to discuss."

"How long until Dean awakens?"

"I dunno, an hour maybe?"

"Very well, that should suffice."

* * *

Dean dreamt of creatures, bizarre, beautiful and breathtaking in their elegance and the sheer amount of power radiating from them. Each was different in size, shape and design. Some were mixes of discernible creatures – zebras, monkeys, lions – while others were made of entirely new creatures altogether. Together they sang, their voices ringing out and molding into the sounds the world made like wind through trees rushing water. Yet, despite the uniform nature of their voices joined in this ceremonious noise, Dean still found himself drawn to one in particular.

From what Dean could gather, it was roughly the size of the Chrysler Building with cracks filled with light stretched over its skin like veins in hues of blue. Its skin, or what appeared to be skin, was less white than pearl in color as different shades danced as it moved. Despite its size, it almost seemed willowy and frail in comparison to the others, its lower half shrouded in a robe or sash of some sort while it stood bare from the waist(?) up.

Dean allowed himself to slowly climb with his vision, finding the duel sets of midnight wings almost jarring in contrast to the rest of the pale form. The arms were grotesquely thin and yet fit the form of it, the veins of light making way to its hands where the fingers were long and thin and the backs had piercing pools of blue – only realizing as he continued to observe that those were eyes. It wasn't until he finally looked upon its faces, those piercing blue eyes brimmed with light from within and looking at him from three different faces entirely – a ram, a monkey, a zebra and then there was the blank mask with nothing but a gaping maw at the low center of it – that his stomach turned into a chasm that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Cass?"

* * *

"Now that you're up to speed, Mr. Quad, you do know what happened to make Dean-o become this bastardized Angel of the Lord, right?"

"Yes, but why would Michael place his grace into the cavity that houses Dean's soul rather than claim his vessel and prepare for Lucifer's inevitable return? Surely he knew the possible-"

"Now that is the question of the century – why? He had to have known something we don't."

"What do we do now? What can we do?"

"I'd say find Michael, but I have a feeling a week old baby will be pretty useless."

"Indeed."

* * *

The immense form of the creature – Castiel, Dean reminded himself – leaned closer to him until he realized that he was not himself but some kind of ball of energy that was more him than he could ever convey. There was no way in Hell he would be able to wrap his mind around that.

"You should not be here, Dean. This is no place for a human soul."

"I didn't want to stay there without you."

He surprised himself when the words rang true. Fondness flooded it-his features as it-he gingerly cupped him in it-his warm fingers. Reverently, it-he lifted him until he was cupped to it-his forehead and Dean couldn't help but feel the entirety of this version of him flare with light and feeling.

"I will miss you when we can no longer stay like this."

"What d'ya mean?"

A soft chuckle escaped Castiel that sounded like rain in spring, warm and inviting.

"Your day of birth is mere days away, Dean."

Terror spread through his being, the emotion encompassing until he felt his self shift smaller.

"I don't wanna leave you, Cass."

"Do not fret, little one."

Waves of warmth and affection lapped over him as Castiel spoke, it-his eyes closing as it-he held Dean closer still.

"I will always be with you."

Dean woke feeling safe and warm, basking in the feeling of being held. His eyes fluttered open to find his eyes level with Castiel's belly button, his body curled towards him as the priest sat above him while looking off in the distance, absently running his fingers through Dean's hair. The priest did not seem to notice him waking, seeming too lost in thought to notice much of anything.

"Look, I know it isn't ideal, but if we can beat Lucifer to his vessel and stop him from claiming it –"

"Then the Apocalypse can be averted."

"Bingo."

"But what about Dean?"

"What about him?"

"Yeah, what about me?"

Fierce blue eyes snapped to his, the same and yet so different from the man he had come to know. Something was different, something Dean couldn't place and yet wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"Dean."

Castiel's voice was deeper than he remembered, like an old car on gravel roads while possessing other worldly weariness. What if…

"Cass, are you…are you not human?"

He regretted asking as soon as sadness touched the ethereal blue orbs of his comrade. Wistfully, the cleric looked away while he continued to gently run his hands through his hair.

"I was an Angel…once."

"How long have you known?"

A chuckle.

"You never ask the questions I expect you to."

"Cass…"

"About an hour."

"What…what happened, man? How did you become like the rest of us?"

Dean thought he saw affection in his eyes then, but he couldn't be certain as they did not meet his own.

"You did, Dean."

"…what?"

He couldn't breathe as Castiel turned to him at last.

"Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything."


	21. XXI

Dean sat up quietly, focusing exclusively on Castiel as they both adjusted how they sat. In passing, Dean noticed the constant pressure of the trench coat on his wings but the lack of a shirt he was pretty sure he had put on did not go unnoticed. What was with his life and its sudden affinity with having him shirtless?

"I remember everything, Dean. With Gabriel's help, I now remember the day I was born."

* * *

Briefly, Castiel allowed his eyes to drift to the empty space his brother had once occupied and silently thanked Gabriel for his understanding of the need for privacy.

* * *

"You know, I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things. I remember the Tower of Babel - all 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled divine wrath. But come on, dried dung can only be stacked so high."

Castiel chuckled softly at the memory, sending small shivers down Dean's spine.

"I remember the birth of the universe, the first breeze and smelling the ocean for the first time. I can recall the faces of the first children, the faces of the Neanderthals and the first Thursday to have come to pass."

* * *

Castiel allowed his eyes to turn fondly to Dean then, gracing the winged man with a small up turning of his lips.

"My given name is truly Castiel, Dean. I am –"

He lost himself for a second.

"– was an Angel of Thursday."

"Oh…wait, wasn't –"

"Yes, Dean. The day you came to me, the day you first manifested your wings, was a Thursday."

"…Huh."

"That night… But I'm getting ahead of myself. It was not our first meeting, Dean."

"I know."

Dean's voice was soft like he was telling a secret to an unfelt breeze. Castiel wasn't sure if he should be terrified or relieved.

"What do you remember, Dean?"

"Heaven…at least, I think it is. I'm pretty sure what – who – I'm remembering is you. You're huge and you've got all these heads and wings but your eyes…fuck, your eyes are the same. You carried me, didn't you? I mean, before I was me – before I was born."

"…I held your soul, yes."

Castiel felt guilty for being distraught that Dean didn't remember everything, afraid that he would have to be the one to tell him and yet relieved that he didn't remember everything because it meant that they would have a little more time together. He found himself enjoying human emotions less and less.

"Man, that's…"

"A lot to take in, I unders-"

"I'm glad it was you."

"…what?"

He couldn't hide his surprise when Dean's hand touched his own, looking him in the eyes as he spoke.

"I'm glad it was you, Cass. I wouldn't have wanted it to be anyone else. I just…"

Dean pulled away then, gently scratching the back of his neck. Castiel couldn't read the emotion on Dean's face.

"I figured you should know."

"I am glad it was me as well."

There was a moment of silence the two of them basking in it. Jarring them from that, an obnoxious throat clearing directed their attention to the adjoining room.

"I hate to break up this touching moment, really I do, but you knuckleheads can bone after we no longer have an angry Archangel breathing down our necks."

Castiel felt Dean tense up, waiting to see what the winged man would do. He never ceased to surprise him.

"Alright, chuckles, then what do you propose we do?"

A flutter of wings and the smaller man was standing directly in front of them, placing his palms on their exposed chests. Dean yelped while Castiel simply grit his teeth as a simultaneous scratching and burning sensation spread through them. It didn't last long, leaving a residual tingling in its wake. Dean jerked back, placing a hand on his chest while shooting an accusatory glare at Gabriel.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"Dean-o, relax! I was just giving the two of you Angel Invisibility Cloaks."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Seriously? You've never watched Harry Potter? Talk about a deprived-"

"Gabriel."

Castiel was losing his patience. He knew what the Archangel had done, but Dean was asking him the question, not Castiel.

"Geez, don't get your panties in a twist just because I'm teasing your boyfriend."

"We're not-"

"He is not-"

"You guys are too easy! Look, I just scratched some Enochian on your ribs. Angels can't find you, not even me."

"That's the best news I've heard all day."

Castiel watched Dean stand, offering out a hand to the priest.

"C'mon, Cass."

"Now wait just a second!"

Castiel allowed Dean to pull him up to his feet, the rush of blood to his head making his vision dance and his grip on Dean to tighten.

"I just saved your butted! Then I break open Castiel's little memory vault, make you guys Top Secret and this is the thanks I get? You ditch me? Dude, harsh."

"Look, we don't know you. As far as we know you're working for Raphael!"

Castiel did not bother trying to correct Dean as he continued, knowing full well that the voices that warned him belonged to Balthazar and Gabriel. More than likely, he was part of the reason they'd lasted this long.

"You mean all of those examples just went in one ear and out the other?"

"Well, what do you get out of all of this? What do you gain by helping us?"

"You mean other than the awesome membership pass for Team Free Will and bragging rights?"

"We are not calling us that."

Dean looked at Castiel then, pointing at him with a stern face.

"We're not calling this that."

"Has it ever occurred to you that Raphael, Castiel and all of the other Angels are my siblings? I never wanted the Apocalypse, Dean! I-"

"Whoa, back up – Apocalypse? Like Rapture the world is coming to an end Apocalypse?"

"Like there's another one?"

Gabriel shifted so that he was beside Castiel now, talking behind his hand in a hushed tone that Castiel knew Dean could still hear.

"Your man is a little slow if you ask me."

"What the fuck!?"

"I'm kidding! You're not slow, just-"

"I'm not talking about that! Since when was the Apocalypse on the table?"

"Oh, that's right! We were talking about you while you were out for the count, huh Cassie?"

"Do not call me that."

Castiel felt Dean bristle under his touch, his muscles tensing. Turning to face him as Gabriel returned to his spot in front of the two, he thought better of waiting for the winged man to ask.

"There are a few things that I need to tell you, Dean. It may…change your opinion of me, but it will explain everything."

He turned to Castiel at last.

"Tell me."

Castiel in turn could no longer look at him, turning to face Gabriel instead.

"I want you to take us somewhere else for a moment, somewhere safe but not here. It does not feel right relying the story in this place."

"The story? You don't mean-"

"Yes."

"Are you-"

"Yes."

"Alright, but you should probably get some clothes on first."

Looking down at himself, he moved a couple of steps away from Dean and flushed. He had completely forgotten about his state of undress, circumstances being what they were. Looking over Dean, he chuckled lightly.

"Perhaps you can supply use both with some clothing?"

Dean's eyes lit up instantly.

"And food! It has been way too long since I've eaten."

Gabriel visibly balked, sending Castiel into another fit of giggles.

"Wait, first you don't trust me and now I'm your manservant!? You sure do change your tune quick."

"Gabriel."

"Alright, alright, I gotcha."

The smaller man held up his hands in a casual surrender.

"Wait!"

Dean's outburst surprised both of them, drawing their attention to the winged man. Again, he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact while he mumbled.

"Look, it's been a while since I've had any, so…"

"Look, bucko, I'm not buying you a hooker, lube or candy underwear. That is just not happening."

"Ew, God no! Er…"

A sheepish look to both Castiel and Gabriel.

"Sorry. I was gonna ask if you could get some pie."

"Pie? Really?"

"Yeah! Dude, pie's awesome."

"I prefer cake."

"Blasphemy!"

Castiel zoned out while the two discussed the merits of each dessert, their voices and body language getting more energetic as the conversation continued. What would Dean think of him after he knew all of the details about their time together? This closeness…He resented his human emotions, resented how complicated they made everything.

* * *

Dean had prepared a pretty damn good retort until he stole a glance at Castiel and visibly deflated. He looked so…lost, somehow, and upset. Dean didn't really want to address anything important while Gabriel was in the room, so he silently shooed him with one final reminder of "Don't forget the pie!" Disappearing in an instant with only the sound of rustling feathers left behind. He momentarily wondered if he could ever do that. Dismissing it, he turned to Castiel and attempted to make light of the situation.

"So, what crawled up your butt?"

Nothing.

"Dude, Cass? Come in, Cass."

The priest, ex-Angel, whatever still seemed lost somewhere far off; snapping his fingers in front of his face a couple of times, Cass jumped and turned a startled eye to him.

"Cass, you okay? What's eating you?"

* * *

Castiel really wished he was better at lying. Averting his eyes, he tried to brush him off.

"It is nothing, Dean."

"No, don't you pull that crap with me, Cass! Look at me."

Castiel kept his eyes trained to the floor.

"Look-"

Then Dean's hand was there, forcing his face to turn on his own.

"Look at me, Cass! I don't care about the Apocalypse. I don't care about some dick Angels sitting around with their thumbs up their asses."

Dean didn't release him even as he gestures between them.

"You and me? We're gonna be fine, everything is gonna be fine. We'll figure it out."

"What if we can't?"

Castiel stared into Dean's eyes waiting for an answer he knew would never come.


	22. XXII

In the middle of their staring match Gabriel materialized holding two bags with the biggest shit eating grin the world had ever seen.

"Sorry to interrupt your eye sex-"

Dean let go of Castiel's face like he'd bitten him.

"-but I promise it's not DiGiorno."

"Shut it, chuckles."

"Whatever you say, Jack Twist."

"Can it."

* * *

Castiel remained where he stood while Dean snatched one bag from Gabriel and tossed it to him.

"Get dressed."

He did not need to be told twice, shivering lightly at the chill of the room as he left it. He was surprised to find his clerical suit along with a white button up for Dean – wing holes included. He had been expecting one of Gabriel's pranks; sending a silent apology through prayer, he slipped quickly into the outfit before returning to the main room and holding Dean's shirt out to him.

"Get dressed, Dean, we have much to discuss."

"Aw man, can it wait? I'm starv-"

"Please. This is very important."

Silently, Castiel added the part where he wasn't sure if he could mentally prepare himself for this again. He wasn't sure if Dean noticed the resolve in his eyes or the quiet desperation, but the winged man seemed resigned to whatever was about to happen.

"Alright."

Dean set down his half demolished burger before turning his back to him.

"Uh, you mind…?"

"You two are precious, really!"

"Shut up!"

Castiel did as he always had, ignored Gabriel's rude comments and removed the coat in one fluid movement. The change was immediate, Dean letting out a content sigh and rolling his shoulders.

"I had forgotten about the discomfort in your wings that you experience when you wear this, my apologies."

"Eh, don't worry, Cass. I'll live."

The winged man turned to face him then, a small wink that only Castiel could see and one of Dean's most genuine smiles as he took the offered shirt at last.

"Later."

"Agreed."

In the end, Castiel had to help Dean once again with getting into his shirt, much to Gabriel's endless amusement.

"Sucks to be you, pal!"

"Shaddup!"

Castiel was grateful for Gabriel, for the way he could make everything seem so light hearted despite the looming darkness on the horizon. If Dean decided that he did not want Castiel to continue on this journey with him, his only hope was that Gabriel would watch over him. Gabriel, grabbing his shoulder, pulled him from his thoughts and forced him to look the shorter man in the eyes.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"As ready as I will ever be."

"Sorry I kind of sucked as far as brothers go."

"You have done alright."

"Is this chick flick moment over, ladies?"

Castiel chuckled softly at Dean doing what he did best.

"I believe so."

"Alright, let's get this show on the road."

He rubbed his hands together while looking eager, his wings betraying his façade again as they twitched in an agitated nervousness. Turning back to Gabriel, he gave him the go ahead.

"So, how long do you want this little talk to last?"

"One hour should be more than adequate. If we are not completed by then, I can easily have you wait outside."

"Whatever, bro."

Gabriel didn't touch them, simply snapped his fingers and they both found themselves in a church that had sunlight filtering through the stained glass. Castiel took in a surprised breath, looking around once and yet already recognizing the location.

"Oh Gabriel…"

It must have been his tone, Dean clutching his elbow with a tenacity of a worried mother hen.

"What's wrong? What did he do?"

"Nothing, nothing. I just…this church holds significance for me is all."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Not now. Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."

Castiel walked to the front of the pews, leaning against the organ near the podium so that he could face Dean as he spoke while the winged man sat in the front most of the pews. Despite sunset painting the room in rose colored hues the atmosphere was grave.

"We have been through much together, you and I."

"Don't start with that."

"Dean-"

"No, you don't start a story with a goodbye. You just don't."

Exasperated, Castiel obliged.

"Very well."

He crossed his arms in an attempt to seem more serious and only managing to make himself feel that much smaller. This was proving to be harder than he had anticipated.

"The memory you had, what happened?"

"You told me you'd always be with me."

A sad smile graced Castiel's lips as he recalled that day in Heaven.

"That was three days before you were to be born."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do not interrupt me."

His eyes grew stern and he got a clenched jaw and a curt nod for his efforts.

"The day before you were to be born into this world I was called on by my superior, Zachariah. Michael had warned me against letting any other Angel know of your whereabouts and at the time I was too inexperienced to question my orders. Blindly, I listened and left Zachariah in the dark about having ever been given you."

"Why would your superior give two fucks about me?"

"Dean, you are…special."

"Damn straight."

Affection swelled in his chest and not wanting to allow it to deter him, Castiel gave a half hearted scowl before continuing.

"Your soul is special, Dean. Your birth ushered the beginning of the end."

Castiel allowed that to sink in for a moment.

"Your family is part of a long standing bloodline, Dean. You were born to take on the legacy; you were born to be a vessel for the Archangel Michael himself."

Dean raised his hand like a petulant child.

"Yes, Dean?"

"What's a vessel?"

"Do you remember that Demon from the other day?"

"Uh…yeah?"

"Demons, as most media suggests, can possess any human they want. Angels...are similar in that aspect but are harder to contain. Their true visage can burn the eyes out of any onlooker; if they take a vessel that is not their own they can possibly destroy them completely. There are certain people, special people, who can see the Angels as there are –"

"So, am I-?"

"I doubt it, but I could be wrong. I believe that you can currently spy on our true visages due to the Grace that is slowly bonding with your soul. It would explain the slow growing abilities and the reason why you materialized wings of your own."

"Awesome."

"I believe that the reason that same Grace has not destroyed you may in part be due to your being Michael's vessel, his sword. You were made to contain him, it is logical to assume you are capable of utilizing his Grace."

"Wait, in part? What's that supposed to mean? And what the Hell does any of this have to do with the time I spent with you in Heaven?"

"There…is much more to speak of. The night that Zachariah called on me, I had to leave you behind. You were tucked away in my favorite Heaven, supposedly safe and unknown. I stupidly thought that it would be enough, the fact that I kept you to myself."

Chocked by emotions, Castiel cleared his throat before he went on as Dean took the opportunity to interject again.

"What are you talking about, Cass? What-"

"Something unprecedented happened that night. Demons breached Heaven for the first time in history. While I was being commended for my performance in a battle that had occurred over a fortnight previous they tore apart that Heaven and dragged you to Hell."

"…what?"

"I later learned that it had been orchestrated by Zachariah, a means to break the first seal."

"What are you talking about? The first seal? Hell? What the fuck, Cass?"

"Dean, please let me finish."

Silently fuming, from as far as Castiel could tell, he did not interrupt for the moment.

"It is foretold that the world will end when Lucifer rises from his cage and fights Michael on the mortal plane."

"Lucifer?"

"Yes. The seals keep his cage shut, prevent him from leaving Hell."

"Wait, so what does it have to do with me?"


	23. XXIII

"Dean, the proper title given to the Sword of Michael is the Righteous Man. Every first born male of your family is deemed as such from the moment their souls came into being."

"Right, Righteous."

Castiel ignored his tone, continuing on as he knew he must.

"It has long since been prophesized that the day one of your blood line, one of the Righteous Men goes into Hell, the day you take up a blade and cut into another soul to save your own, the first seal is broken."

Another pause, taking a breath that he didn't need to stall from saying what he knew he must.

"That seal is the central seal; once broken it sets off a chain, weakening the other seals to the point that it is possible to break them all."

"What are you trying to say, Cass?"

"I am saying that I failed you, Dean. When I returned from Zachariah's place in Heaven you were gone, the only clues to your whereabouts being the scorches on the grass and the sickening smell of sulfur that clung to that Heaven like a miasma. The instant I figured it out, the instant I knew where you were I left, but it was too late."

"You left?"

"I did not wait for orders or subordinates; I did not spend a second asking for assistance. I stormed Hell to get you back. You spent ten Earth days in the pit, Dean. That is the equivalent of one hundred and seventeen in Hell. That is one hundred and seventeen days of torture that you did not understand because it was your first experiences with pain."

He couldn't look at Dean, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"You were amazing, Dean. You lasted seventy eight of those days of torture before they broke your soul until it said yes. When I found you, you were brilliant as the day I had met you but the scars, the tears…"

Castiel covered his mouth a moment before continuing.

"I pulled you back to Heaven, swaddled in my Grace and whimpering. It took me three days to heal you, replacing parts that were irreparable with bits of my own Grace to make you whole again. Then I delivered you to your mother and you were born almost two weeks late."

"Wait, you…I've got some kind of patchwork soul and you're just going to skip over that fact? Is that why you said 'in part' earlier? Because you're as much to blame about this situation as Michael is; as my blood is?"

"I am not…'skipping over it', as you say. There is simply nothing more to say. Yes, there are parts of my Grace in you. Yes, it is possible that may have been why it was so easy for Michael's Grace to meld with your soul. That is, however, speculation that is impossible to prove or disprove. There is no sense in focusing on something beyond our control."

"Bullshit-"

"May I finish?"

Castiel heard the frustrated noise come from Dean, refusing to look at him in fear of what he would see in his eyes. He shifted his weight, leaning on his left foot as he uncovered his face and braced his hands on the organ behind himself, eyes still trained on the floor.

"It was then that Zachariah revealed his intentions, how I had played a role in the end. I remembered Michael, how desperate he was and I remembered how frail you were. I made my choice and you saw the rest."

"You mean the fight with what's-his-face?"

"Yes. I chose to fall, ripped my Grace from my chest so that I could properly watch you without orders or Heaven getting in my way."

He chanced a look then, Dean's expression pained but slowly turning thoughtful while Castiel remained beside himself. Soon, Dean would abandon him.

"Why'd you do it, Cass? Why'd you go through all of that? And don't give me some bullshit excuse like it was all for me."

Self righteous fury flared inside Castiel as he stepped away from the organ and moved in front of the winged man, his eyes trained on Dean's own.

"It is the truth, Dean. I fought my way through Hell, I am Fallen, hunted and I did it – all of it – for you. I understand that you are confused, angry even but don't you dare question my loyalties."

Clenching and unclenching his fists as he continued to meet Dean's eyes, he waited a moment before storming down the aisle and walking out the doors.

* * *

Dean let Castiel leave, unsure if he wanted to stop him or if he even could. As if his life wasn't complicated enough now he was told his only friend was a Fallen Angel and he'd started the Apocalypse before he was born. Sorry, but this was getting to be too much. He needed a drink and he needed it yesterday. Moving to the doors it was only then that he remembered the forgotten coat in the cabin.  
Groaning, he struggled his way into a black long coat he found hanging before exiting the church as well. Castiel was sitting on the curb, his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. Dean wasn't sure what to say to him anymore, it was like every time he got to know the guy some new baggage came up that royally fucked Dean over.

Brushing past the smaller man, he didn't spare him a glance as he addressed him.

"Gabriel will be here shortly."

"Yeah? Well tell him I'm getting shit-faced."

Dean heard shuffling and footsteps.

"I don't think –"

"Yeah?"

He spun around to face him, only then really noticing the height difference. It was like the story had taken something from Castiel, something essential that had previously made him taller, somehow larger than Dean in ways that mattered more than physically.

"Well fuck what you think, Cass! All you've managed to do is royally screw my life, so I'd like to get some 'me time' before the next shit storm. I'm finding a bar and you're not gonna stop me."

Dean didn't wait for the reply this time as he turned and tried to wipe the devastated look on Castiel's face from his mind. The dick deserved it. This time he didn't hear the footsteps following him, just his own resounding in the darkness. It took Dean ten minutes to find a bar, two to realize that the owner of the coat had left his wallet in the pocket and another four to order and get comfortable on a stool.

* * *

Castiel waited for Gabriel's return in silence. He had known it would come, knew Dean would hate him for what he had done and what he had failed to do. He had not been expecting it to hurt as much as it did. The flutter of wings signaling Gabriel's appearance made Castiel wince, yet another reminder of what it had all cost him.

"Hey bro, where's Dean?"

"He's…locating a drinking establishment."

"You mean he went off alone? Do you know what this means?"

Castiel's jaw clenched, hating Gabriel for wanting him to voice it.

"That he has decided I have ruined him."

Gabriel jerked his arm hard, forcing him to face his brother.

"Castiel, pull yourself together! Now is no time for a pity party."

He growled, anger flaring again as Gabriel's words wrung truer than he would have liked.

"Why the Hell not?"

"Dean is alone, invisible from me and in a place Demons are most likely to be in a small time like this."

Terror was not a strong enough word to describe the chill that ran down his spine, the color draining from his face.

"We have to find Dean."

* * *

Dean was inebriated within half an hour, leaning heavily on the bar while he ordered another. He wasn't even upset anymore, just numb and at a loss. Some part of him had trusted Castiel to be a constant, to be the one solid and 'for sure' thing in his life and now it was crashing down around him. It was like life was pulling some unending joke on Dean and there was no way out, any way to win.

Dean didn't hear the person standing behind him running his mouth, too lost in his thoughts to notice much of anything even as he took a swig from his fresh glass of whiskey. Just as his lips met the rim of the glass he received a hard shove from behind, cracking his teeth against the glass and spilling the amber liquid all down his front. Cracking his neck, it was then that he realized that this was what he had really come for.

"So, you gonna apologize or are you planning on being a dick?"

"How's about you suck mine, pretty boy?"

Huffing out a laugh he set down his glass, turned to the guy with a wry smile and sized him up. Eh, he'd been in brawls with worse.

"Right answer, dickwad."

Slamming his left fist into the guy's face was refreshing; something he'd been itching to do to a lot of people as of late and it was about fucking time. Maybe he'd even try getting laid when this was over. The guy could take a hit; Dean had to give him that. Blood was steadily leaking from his nose but the guy was smiling like he'd just told the greatest joke. Dean couldn't place why, but that just made him angrier.

* * *

Castiel followed his instincts, a slight pulling at his subconscious, and managed to find Dean in a bar five miles due south, fighting a man who was about one and a half of him but still winning. One look and Castiel knew something was wrong, something was off. He moved before his mind caught up with his feet, stepping between the two them before Dean had a chance to stop his trajectory.

"Dean."

The winged man's fist connected with his stomach, winding him and making Castiel feel more nauseous than he had earlier. Stumbling back, he collided with the other man who uttered two words in his ear before slamming his face into the bar and his world returned to black for the third time in the last week.

"He's ours."


	24. XXIV

Dean knew the instant he heard the man utter the words that he had fucked up. Then the man started coming at him, faster this time and with enough force that he knew if he did not dodge it would cause damage. For yet another time in the last week, Dean felt truly terrified. Dean dodged a hit to the face only to receive a kidney shot that made his entire right side explode with agony. Instinctively, Dean grabbed the man's face and was almost blinded by the light that spilled forth. Slumping onto a stool before letting go, he watched the man fall to the floor before finally taking in his surroundings.

The bar was dead silent, all eyes on him as the patrons stared in horror at the scene they had just witnessed. It wasn't busy, maybe ten people tops, but as he witnessed all of the eyes of go black and their faces contort into furious grimaces he realized that he was well and truly fucked.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

Gabriel was lost in thought as he searched for the winged man in vain. He knew that withholding information from Castiel would not end pleasantly, but he did not want Dean to hear his suspicions just yet. After all, who wouldn't take the idea that their little brother was Lucifer's vessel badly?

* * *

The demons rose from their seats while Dean mentally prepared himself for the worst. Slowly edging his way so that he was in front of the unconscious priest, he heard the tell tale sound of fluttering wings somewhere to his right.

"Gabriel, thank fuck-"

"Sorry to disappoint, but no."

Flipping his head around, Dean recognized the Angel beside him from the dream he'd eavesdropped on.

"Balthazar?"

"I'm…not going to ask how you know that. I take it Cassie positively talks about me all the time?"

"Is now really-"

"The time? No. Will I anyways? Oh yes."

Dean didn't see him do it, but it was then that he saw Castiel under the blonde man's arm while he reached the other out and grabbed Dean's shoulder. Again with the sickening feeling of the world dropping from beneath him, one moment he was in the middle of the Demon infested bar and the next they were in the cabin from before. Balthazar practically threw the unconscious priest onto him before addressing him once more.

"Check his wounds, won't you? I believe he may have ripped a stitch or two."

"Wha-"

The Angel didn't bother waiting for a reply, just disappeared leaving Dean talking to the stale evening air with his arms full of priest.

"Dick."

Dragging him into the first room he found, Dean laid Castiel down on a cot in the corner of the room, still having not resolved the mess of emotions he had left him in but even Dean had the decency to know that now was not the time. Wrestling Cass out of his clerical shirt, he sucked in a pained breath of sympathy.

"You sure can take a punch."

His fingers ghosted over the red mark on the white flesh of his stomach, knowing full well that it would bruise in a few hours. Struggling with his newly acquired coat, he stretched his wings as he folded it carefully and laid it down so as to cushion his stomach before rolling him onto it. The healing coloration of Castiel's bruises made them more grotesque, his back a mess of green and yellow marbled skin.

Just by looking at the bandages covering the stitched wounds Dean could see the one that burst, his shoulder coated with dried blood and a bandage that looked crusted and hard. Covering the unconscious man with the tan trench coat, he searched the cabin for a bathroom or sink of any kind. It took him a minute, finding a few barren rooms and closets with abandoned boxes inside. In one he even managed to find a travel sized sewing kit, stuffing it into the waist band of his pants and knowing full well that he would need it soon.

He found the bathroom first, eternally grateful for the towels left behind, discovering the miracle that was running water so that he could make the clean up a little easier on everyone involved. The cupboards at first yielded nothing until he found a discarded First Aid Kit hidden behind the feminine products and hair dryer. Immediately he returned to Castiel's side, afraid of what might happen so long as they were separated. The situation seemed more fucked up by the minute, but at least with Castiel he knew he was safe.

Kneeling beside his companion, the priest's skin felt cool against his own. He needed to do this quickly, needed to find a way to return some heat to him. He dabbed the dried blood off, wetting down the used bandage in an attempt to ensure it would not rip out any stitches when he pulled it off. Instead, the cotton swatch clung to the skin beneath, making him wince every time he had to pull a little harder to remove it.

He cleaned the wound quietly; grateful that at least it was not infected again but only reopened. Three stitches had burst, having completely tore through the skin they kept together. Dean had some medical knowledge, this he knew, but broken stitches were beyond his pay grade.

"Gabe, I could really use your help right about now. Cass and I are shacked up-"

The flutter of wings was deafening in comparison to the previous silence.

"Dean, I may have been expecting a happy announcement, but isn't it a bit soon?"

"Cass is hurt."

* * *

Gabriel dropped his jovial attitude as he let his eyes flit to his baby brother. He had known about the wounds, hard to miss with him parading around in his underwear, but he had also known that Castiel would have been furious if he had healed him. This, however, was different. The Demon had fractured his skull, possibly putting him in a coma from shock and the wound on his shoulder was to the point further stitching would only prove to make it worse. Quite frankly, he could give two fucks what Castiel thought.

Shoving Dean aside, he sat beside his brother and laid his hand on the middle of his back. Gabriel would fix what he could.

* * *

Dean would never get used to the instantaneous healing. The bruises were gone, the gash scabbed to the point where movement would not cause bad damage and would even leave a pink raised scar upon removal. Relief washed over the winged man as he would be damned if he let what they had talked about taking that away.

* * *

Castiel woke feeling better than he knew he should, huddled against something warm and comfortable. Without thought he curled into that heat, rubbing his face along the smooth exterior. It moved then, a sudden intake of breath sounding from above his head.

"Dude, watch where you go rubbing your stubble, feels like a friggin' Brillo pad."

Castiel recoiled; horrified at the position he was in with Dean. Wait, Dean?

"Dean, what are you – what happened?"

The winged man sat up, stretching his previously sprawled wings as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was strange, surreal to see him so relaxed after they last spoke. Seeing the tired smile that Dean graced him with only enhanced the feeling.

"It's really good to see you up and about, man; I thought you were gonna be Mr. Comatose for sure."

"Dean, what is going on?"

"The Demon, I think Balthazar said he was Wrath-"

"Balthazar was here?"

"Yeah, but that's a little later on. The Demon put you out for the count, punched my kidney – which fucking hurt, by the way – and-"

"Did you have Gabriel heal you?"

"No. Look, I'm fine-"

"Let me see it."

"No, Cass-"

"Dean."

They stared at one another a few tense minutes until Dean relented and shifted to give Castiel a better view. The mark was horrendous, a mottled patch of black, blue and red that looked more like jam than anything.

"Dean, you-"

"I'm fine. I'll have Balthazar look at it later."

"What happened?"

"Uh, right, where was I? Umm…He went for a kidney shot, I slammed my palm on his face and then weird ability number four shows up: I can banish the fuckers. Turns out, the rest of the bar? Not really human. So then Balthazar pops in, drops us here and leaves me to tend to you."

Dean looks at him again, obvious worry in his eyes.

"It was bad, Cass. There was nothing I could do."

"So then-"

"I called Gabe, he fixed you enough so you'd be okay but still scar and then…we talked."

"You…talked?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"…Stuff."

"Dean."

"Oh, give him a break, Castiel; he's had quite the ordeal."

Flipping around, Castiel saw Gabriel leaning nonchalantly in the doorway. There was that grin again.

"How about you lovebirds-"

"We-"

"I-"

"-get some clothes on and we can talk over breakfast?"

Simultaneously they scrambled off the cot in search of clothes that neither had really noticed they were lacking. This was the second time Gabriel had to alert them – particularly Castiel – of this absence, something that made him flush with embarrassment. Throwing on his jeans and the first shirt he could find he was greeted with Dean looking particularly put out as he worked his way back into the dress shirt.

"If you'd like I can-"

"Nah, I got it."

In the shirt at last, Dean turned towards the door. Before he could put distance between them, Castiel grabbed his arm and turned him so that they were face to face while he searched his eyes.

"We will finish that discussion later."

"Yeah, okay."


	25. XXV

The sight inside of the kitchen truly was an interesting one, Balthazar dancing like some famous cook while slapping Gabriel's hands at every attempt to sneak a taste.

"You know, I can easily smite your ass for this."

"Yes, but then you would never taste it again."

"Touché."

Castiel couldn't rip his eyes from the scene unfolding; it was surreal, having two members of your family in the same room as you when you had come to terms with the idea of never seeing them again.

"Balthazar."

The Angel turned, a broad smile on his face as he suddenly was there wrapping his arms around his fallen brother.

"Cassie, I thought you were gone for good."

"I know."

He pulled him at arm's length, giving him a once over. His incredulous look was only slightly disconcerting.

"You're scrawny."

Before Castiel could defend himself his brother was at the stove, throwing it open to pull out potato rounds.

"I forgot!"

* * *

Breakfast was Heavenly, pun intended. Dean couldn't remember the last time he has sat at a table so lively, eating food that was impossibly better than it smelled – which was fucking delicious – while listening to the embellished tales of Castiel and Balthazar's adventures in Heaven. Dean laughed along a he absorbed the information, enjoying the atmosphere but ultimately feeling more alone. It had been a long time since he'd talked to Sammy like this, Lisa's death putting a shadow over him that only pushed everyone away. Sam had tried, God bless him he tried until there was nothing else he could do, but with Dean in his borderline catatonic state the only thing left for him was to leave.

Dean never blamed him for it, glad for the crumble of his resolve so that he could go off and live his own life, make something of himself. Some nights he had found himself too sober to face that eternal emptiness that was left behind. Thinking back to those dark nights Dean slowly felt himself drowning in it, a lump forming in his throat that his food could not travel beyond. Shoving away his plate, Dean rose from the table and moved away before Castiel could reach him.

"I'm gonna hit the shower."

"…Okay."

* * *

Castiel could tell that something was wrong, but he knew better than asking in front of his brothers. After finishing the remainder of his plate, he discreetly excused himself from the table and made his way back to the room. Stripping out of his clerical shirt but leaving the white one beneath, he moved to the door where he heard the gentle sounds of running water from within. Gently wrapping on the door, he rested one hand on the doorknob as he addressed the man within.

"Dean, I am coming in."

"Oh – Wait, what?! No, Cass-"

The priest had not waited for a reply, opening the door to reveal Dean floundering a moment as he used his wings to cover himself. Castiel stared, blinking at Dean's obvious discomfort with a confused fascination. He had the distinct feeling Dean wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw the smaller man out of the room, but he was not about to let that happen. Moving fully into the room, Castiel closed the door behind himself.

"I believe washing your wings has been long overdue."

"Well, yeah, but you don't just –"

"If not now, when would you suggest we do so, Dean?"

* * *

Dean didn't have an explanation for the feeling of importance to this moment, the feeling that if he turned the priest away now he would be destroying the delicate balance they had finally achieved. This was part of the process for forgiveness; this was something they both needed equally. He pushed the thoughts of his brother once more to the back of his mind, nodding slowly.

"Alright, but could you-"

Cass had moved within an arm's reach swiftly, bending over and reaching out while Dean yelped at the thought that came to the forefront of his mind.

* * *

Castiel didn't understand Dean's severe reaction to him turning off the shower head. Standing before he turned back to the winged man, he allowed his brow to furrow as he tilted his head and gave the best questioning glance.

* * *

Oh. Oh Lord, this was embarrassing. Dean cleared his throat and grabbed his towel from the toilet seat, covering himself before he made it worse.

"I uh…So, how're we gonna do this?"

_Smooth, Dean_, his inner Sam teased. _Can it, Sasquatch._ A minute of mentally struggling with himself ensued before Dean finally noticed the expectant stare of the priest. Fuck.

"Uh…"

"You were not listening."

"No."

"I see."

* * *

Castiel sighed softly. He wasn't surprised, not even upset but relieved; he found himself grateful for the fact that Dean was acting like himself again. Taking a hold of Dean's shoulders, he adjusted him so that he was facing the wall with the faucet as he climbed in behind him and took a seat on the edge.

"Uh…"

"Have a seat."

"I'm not sure this was quite what I had in mind when-"

"What would you prefer I do?"

"Uh…"

"Hand me the shower nozzle and sit down, Dean."

* * *

Dean audibly shut his fool mouth and did as he was told. It was weird, the situation mirroring his childhood when he was bathed by his mother. The only real difference was the severe lack of physical contact and Dean's uncertainty at how he felt about the whole thing. Involuntarily his body twitched when the priest leaned up behind him to turn the shower head back on. As the arm retreated over his shoulder he caught a faint glimpse of the burn, the hand print as smooth and bright as day one.

"How's the arm?"

* * *

Castiel's hand stilled as he attempted to understand the nature of the question. It took him a while to register what Dean could be talking about, at first thinking of the stitches and voicing such.

"Dean, Gabriel healed all of the abrasions, even the-"

"No, Cass, that's not what I meant."

Another moment before it clicked.

"Oh, the hand print."

"Yeah…"

"Dean, it has never caused me any discomfort."

"…You sure?"

"I say what I mean."

* * *

Dean's wings twitched somewhat violently when the water and warm fingers touched them, making contact with the flight feathers of his left wing. It took a minute before he felt the muscles and membranes relax into the rough but gentle tough of the priest; his sure, steady ministrations felt amazing on the sensitive appendages. Dean didn't bother fighting the little noises of comfort and appreciations leaking from his mouth, letting his subconscious take the wheel for a little while.

* * *

The rest of the world faded into the background for Castiel as he focused on the task at hand. He enjoyed this, having something he could do. He made quick work on the left wing, finishing in record time before moving onto the right. He almost missed Dean speaking at all if not for the larger man leaning ever so slightly closer to himself.

"Cass?"

"My apologies, I was not paying attention. What was the question?"

"I was just wondering if you missed it."

"It?"

"Y'know, being an Angel. Now that you remember and all, do you miss it?"

"I…Truthfully, I cannot say that I do."

"What? Why not?"

"Dean, it was…not as the religious man portrays it and it was not always as amazing as Balthazar had described it over breakfast. I was a soldier. I did not understand what the term 'enjoyable' was. Aside from that, I suspect that it is different than what you are expecting."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Castiel felt the tension in his wings as Dean seemed to become on edge. He couldn't imagine what was putting him into such a state of emotional distress, but he continued onward.

"Dean, it has been thirty one years since I fell. Before I had lived thousands of lifetimes, seen more than any human could begin to comprehend. One lifespan is similar to a grain of sand on a shore."

"Oh…"

The disappointment was unmistakable. Unsure what his error was, the ex-Angel fought to rectify it.

"That is not to say that it does not matter to me, simply that it is small by comparison."

* * *

Dean didn't know why this revelation made him upset but he couldn't shake it.

"Is there any way to get it back?"

"What do-"

"Your Angel mojo. Y'know, Grace or whatever."

* * *

Castiel had not really thought about it.

"I…suppose."

"Really?"

There was hope now where disappointment had settled. The idea that his mood could alter so quickly with so few words was strange to him.

"If we can locate it, it will likely re-assimilate with the portion I hold and, in theory; I will retain my Angelic status once more."

Castiel finished the right wing then stood and began to step out of the tub to provide Dean with the privacy he seemed to require to finish the rest of his routine. He was fully turned, his back to his companion, before a hand at his elbow stopped him. Dean was inches away when he met his eyes again, the odd proximity doing things to his stomach.

"Dean?"

"We're gonna find it, Cass."

"Do not-"

"Let me do this one thing for you."

He allowed his eyes to roam the other man's face, brown blonde stubble peppering his set jaw, his moss green eyes serious as he waited for a reply. Relenting, he nodded once and met the winged man's eyes once more.

"Okay."


	26. XXVI

Dean would never admit this to Castiel, but he had no idea what he was doing. Sure, finding an Angel's Grace **sounded** like an easy idea. In reality? Not so much. It didn't help that he had no idea what he was looking for exactly. Later that night, after Cass had gone to bed, Dean decided to ask the two people he knew were the most likely to know.

"So, let me get this straight. You have it in that mud monkey brain of yours that you are going to just find his Grace and make him an Angel again?"

"Uh…yeah?"

"But you have no idea where it is or how you are going to retrieve it."

"No."

Balthazar turned to Gabriel then, shooting him an 'I-can't-believe-you-dragged-me-into-this' look. To Dean's surprise, Gabriel took his side.

"Look, he's just trying to help, you don't have to-"

"So what, you just want me to tell him how it is?"

"Yeah, actually."

Balthazar was looking more pissed by the minute, the air surrounding his person practically crackling with his annoyance. He turned back to Dean, his eyes a dangerous glare.

"First is the matter of locating the approximate landing sight, tracking it to the precise location and if- if – it's even still there then he has to take it back in. Then there's the ever present risk of-"

"Whoa, there-"

"No, if he's set on the insane task of returning Castiel's Grace than I will not deprive him anything. He bloody well needs to know what he could do."

A trickling sense of dread spread over him as Gabriel crossed his arms and reluctantly nodded. Finally Balthazar turned to him again, his eyes blazing with something Dean could only describe as self righteous fury.

"If we manage to get it back – and this is a **huge** if – then when he regains it there is a chance he might be sent back to Heaven. Forcefully."

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you really that dense? I'm sorry, I'll use smaller words for your benefit – his Grace hasn't recharged in a while. So, you meat head, when it connects with his piece and becomes whole he might have the involuntary reaction of shooting off to Heaven. Oh, and in case you're really as dumb as you look, Zachariah is still up there seething from Castiel's little stunt."

"So then-"

"He gets it at last! Yes, your little idea – while _adorable_ – would run the risk of sending him to his death."

Dean was getting real sick of this dick's shit.

"So what would **you** have me do? I can't just leave him like this!"

"Uh, you can and you will."

"Like Hell I will! He deserves to be given something back, not be trapped like a fucking rat in a cage!"

"So you'd rather kill him than leave him be?"

Dean turned to Gabriel then, the smaller man sitting in silence as he listened to the argument s it unfolded.

"Isn't there something you could do to stop him from leaving? I mean, you're a fucking _Archangel_, man. Isn't there **anything**?"

* * *

Gabriel had an idea; a **very** stupid idea, but it was clever enough that – no, never mind, it was dumb. Looking back to Dean, he realized that he had waited too long, the silence stretching out to the point that he couldn't just brush it off anymore. This was a **really** dumb idea.

"There…might be a way. I mean, it would be taking a page from Raphael's book, but-"

"Can you do it?"

"Well, in theory-"

"Would it work?"

"Uh, maybe. I mean, I guess-"

"That's good enough for me."

* * *

Castiel couldn't sleep, his dreams plagued with memories that only put his existing circumstances under a microscope. Stumbling into the bathroom, he shut the door and turned on the harsh yellow light to look himself over. The lack of sunlight had allowed his hair to maintain its almost black shade, his skin not quite the shade Dean had. His dark circles were getting bad, his human body unaccustomed to the severe lack of REM sleep he had been experiencing. '_You would think passing out would have done something about that.'_

Placing one hand to his chest, he basked in the dull ache from where his Grace had once been. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful for Gabriel awakening his memories or not, the only thing they seemed to do was cause problems for everyone surrounding him. Using the restroom before returning to the room to grab the rest of his clothes, he took a shower while the sun began its ascent of the day. In the end, he left out the collar, the idea behind it now lost on him. Sitting on the porch he watched the sun rise while he enjoyed the silence of the moment. He didn't know where his brothers where while Dean remained in the room, but he had a feeling life was about to get out of hand.

* * *

In that respect, Castiel was correct. They remained solely in that cabin for weeks; Gabriel teaching Dean how to fly while Balthazar focused on ensuring Castiel's sword fighting was still at Angelic levels. They waited until Dean could glide short distances without landing face first before they relocated.

* * *

Dean decided that on the two month mark of their time together he would start the search. Finding Castiel on the dock by their new cabin, his feet dangling in the water, he took a seat to his left before bringing it up.

"Hey Cass."

"Hello Dean."

"Look, do you remember what we talked about before?"

"If you are addressing personal space, I would like to point out-"

"No, no, no, no. Not that, the thing we talked about…"

"You will need to specify, Dean, we talk frequently and cover a broad range of topics."

"Your Grace."

"Ah."

"So, you remember?"

"Yes."

"Awesome! So, I was thinking that maybe we could start really looking for it."

"Oh."

"I've been talking to Gabe too and he's totally on board with this. There are just a couple of things we're gonna need…"

Dean waited for Castiel to ask 'what' in vain as the man continued to look out over the serene waters. Something wasn't right.

"Dude, you okay?"

"Yes, Dean, I am…fine."

"You don't sound it."

Castiel spared a single glance before turning his eyes to his hands in his lap.

"Dean, as an Angel…I had questions, I had doubts. Sometimes it appears as though I did more so then than I have now. I rebelled for you, knowing full well what it meant. Being here, as a human, with you is the happiest I believe I have ever been. I am indecisive on my opinion on returning to the proverbial flock."

The ex-Angel turned his eyes back to the water then, leaving Dean silent and at a loss on what there was left that he could do.

"I apologize if it makes me ungrateful for your efforts."

Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, turning to face the same skyline over the lake. He wasn't ready to give up now, not when they had both come so far.

"It's fine, dude, but what would you have me do?"

* * *

Castiel didn't know how to respond. After the night Dean happened to mention the idea he hadn't really given it much thought. From the start it seemed like a pipe dream, something that seemed pleasant at the time but entailed so much more than anyone was ready for. He knew Dean was expecting an answer, but he didn't know what sort of answer there was for him to give. Castiel rested his arms behind himself, supporting his weight with them as he leaned back in contemplation.

"Fine."

In his periphery he watched Dean whip his head around so fast he could swear it had to have hurt. Still, Castiel kept his composure.

"…What?"

"Fine."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

Even from his half view he didn't miss the winged man's struggle to not scream his victory. Dean was getting better at keeping his wings in check, something that eternally annoyed the ex-Angel.

"That's great, Cass. Look, about the stuff we need…"

Finally he looked at him, questioning with his eyes rather than his words.

"To be honest, I probably should have known this stuff since we've known one another for two months now…"

"Known what, Dean?"

"Right, uh, lemme see…"

As he began he counted the items off on his fingers as if making a mental tally. Castiel smiled faintly.

"I need your Birthday, Birthplace and time if at all possible."

"Oh…"

Dean caught the tone, leaning closer to the ex-Angel while Cass's stomach made a convincing impression of a sink hole.

"I don't know those things, Dean."

"What?! What d'ya mean you –"

"I was abandoned at three weeks on church steps in Pontiac, Illinois."

"Oh."

"I am sorry, Dean."

"Wait, Pontiac…Was it-"

"Yes, it was the same church that we discussed our past."

"Wow…"

"Indeed."

"So…I mean, I hate to ask, but what did you do for birthdays? Didn't you celebrate?"

"At the church we celebrated it on the day that I was received on the steps, September 5th. After I left…I relied my age when asked, but otherwise did not celebrate."

"Oh."

It was like clockwork, instantly the winged man was in protective mode. Castiel watched as he relaxed before patting him on the back.

"Well, we're gonna change that, so don't sweat it, Cass. Just means we're gonna have to do more research and when we have it all sorted we'll have a huge party to make up for the years you didn't."

"Dean, that's not-"

"Trust me."

He looked back into Dean's eyes, all jovial comments forgotten. He answered honestly as he always did.

"I do."

He then turned away from him, his hand remaining on Castiel's back as they both basked in the comfortable silence between them.


	27. XXVII

"Gabe, I don't know what to do. He doesn't know anything, man."

"What doesn't he know?"

"Dude doesn't know when, let alone where he was born; said he was storked."

"I had a feeling."

"Excuse me – you had a _feeling?_ What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Have you met him? He's not exactly the poster boy of a warm, happy childhood, Bucko. What were you expecting?"

"I dunno, not that!"

"Yeah? Well too bad. You get what you get. What exactly did he say?"

"He said he was three weeks old, dropped off at the church September 5th."

"Did he say when they found him?"

"Uh, morning, I think. Why-"

"Let's take a trip, shall we?"

Dean barely registered the hand touching his forehead as the ground disappeared beneath him, his vision blacked out and he felt the suffocating feeling of something suddenly constricting his wings.

* * *

Balthazar felt Gabriel's departure and panicked. He had hoped that there would be more time, especially since Dean wasn't exactly proficient in flight yet. Taking a deep breath, it took him less than a minute to locate Lucifer's vessel. Flying to him, he wasted no time with pleasantries and he pressed one hand to the young man's chest and made him invisible to Angels. For now, he flew away and hoped that would be enough.

* * *

To say Sam was shell shocked was an understatement. One minute he's walking out of Starbucks then out of nowhere comes some posh looking blonde in a v-neck(seriously, who wears those anyways?) who slams his hand into his chest hard enough to wind him before disappearing into thin air. If not for the lingering pain in his chest and the stars dancing before his eyes he would have thought he'd imagined the whole thing in a fit of tired insanity. Shaking his head and chalking it up to the 'California experience', he checked his watch before running to the class he was minutes from being late to.

* * *

One look and Dean knew he wasn't in Kansas anymore. Turning to the smaller man, he scowled before asking the first question that came to mind.

"Where the fuck are we?"

"Pontiac, Illinois; the real question, Dean-o, is when are we."

"When? Oh, don't tell me you just Back-To-The-Future-ed us!"

"Nah, it's just 1981."

"What?! I haven't been born yet!"

Some people with the ugliest hair gave Dean some really shitty looks. Oh, he was glad he was not a teenager in the 80's.

"Might want to keep that tid-bit on the down low, don't want to draw attention to ourselves now do we?"

"Alright, but since when are Angels living Deloreans?"

"Since always. Look, we don't have time for this."

"Really?'Cause here I was thinking we had another thirty one years!"

"Look, me doing this? It takes a lot of power. What do you think that means?"

"Oh shit, Angels."

"Yeah, exactly; so we gotta hurry up and find Cassie's mom before they find us."

"Right, but how're we gonna do that, genius?"

"We'll wait at the church for her, confront her about it. What did you think we were gonna do?"

"I dunno, but that'll work."

"Damn straight it will! Now c'mon, we gotta get there before nightfall."

They left the alley and followed the road, walking in silence for twenty minutes before Dean thought about something that wasn't adding up. Knowing now was as good a time as any, he asked.

"Wait, why'd you bring me? I mean, I'm some Righteous Man or whatever. Isn't this a risk?"

"It just has to be you, Dean."

"What are you talking about? It has-"

"It has to be you."

Silence fell once again as they continued down the main road. It was weird for Dean, walking a road and recognizing the younger versions of the buildings lining it that he had passed months prior. He wasn't sure how he felt about the people either, ridiculously grateful that the 'in' styles were well over and done with. Seriously, neon has never been flattering. And what the fuck was with leg warmers? What's wrong with pants and socks? The only good thing that seemed to come from this era was music and even that was a bit sketchy.

They were getting closer to the church now, the doors visible at the end of the street. It took Dean a moment to realize that something was off, something important that he just couldn't place. Everything looked more or less the same, people meeting as they always will, but there was wrongness to it all.

"Gabe?"

"You noticed?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"We aren't the only ones hunting Cassie's Grace."

Grabbed by the collar, Dean was thrown into yet another alley as Gabriel unsheathed his sword in preparation for battle.

* * *

Something wasn't right. Castiel had tried calling for Gabriel, searched for Dean to no avail. Clutching the black trench coat in one hand, he called for the only other ally he had in all of this.

"Balthazar!"

A flutter of wings and Castiel fixed his with a glare so stern the French man flinched ever so slightly.

"Where are they!?"

"Nice to see you too-"

Castiel shoved the trench coat towards the Angel in an accusatory fashion, asking once again.

"Where are they, Balthazar?"

"Where do you think? I mean really, where else would they be? They're hunting the rest of you."

"The rest of…No."

"Yes."

Swearing under his breath, he allowed his arm that still clutched the black over coat to drop to his side. He had hoped that the lack of knowledge would have discouraged them, not pushed them to foolishly play with time. He should have known that Dean couldn't just let. It. Go.

"Cassie?"

He didn't answer; what more was there to say?

"Cassie, I think that when they come back we should really start focusing on our plan, Team Free Will and what not."

"Yeah…"

Castiel hated conceding to the point, but he knew Balthazar was right. Still, the nagging feeling persisted; the distinct feeling that there might not be a coming back.

"Yes we should."

* * *

They came out of nowhere – a kid no older than Sammy but built like a fucking train and a plain, dirty blonde chick somewhere close to her companion's age. They were both wearing pants suits, both wielding some wicked looking swords and they were friggin' pissed.

"Uriel! Hesther! Stop, please!"

"We are under strict orders from Heaven. Stay out of the way or face His Divine Wrath."

Uriel, Dean was guessing, looked down his nose at Gabriel. Somehow he wondered if the guy was a friggin' idiot for not recognizing the Archangel he was threatening. As Gabriel started pulling out his signature smirk Dean had a feeling he wasn't the only one.

"Somehow, bro-"

Both Angels tensed at the casual manner with which he addressed them.

"I doubt that."

It was then that he unfurled his wings and the world began to shake.


	28. XXVIII

_'Dean, I'm gonna need you to go solo on this one. I'll distract Dumb and Dumber, just find Castiel!'_

Scrambling to his feet, Dean barely registered the fact that Gabriel's voice came from inside his own head. Instead, Dean focused on struggling out of the tan trench coat he didn't remember putting on. The instant his wings were free of the coarse polyester he began his ascent, propelling himself high enough he could land on a nearby rooftop and start running. He couldn't resist a smirk as internally he whooped in sheer joy and excitement. Using his wings, he was running towards the church along the rooftops, gliding over any gaps he couldn't jump. It was like the kick ass chase scenes from his favorite movies, something Dean had never really saw himself reenacting but now that he was he made a mental note to do it again.

* * *

Gabriel had never been much of a fighter. Then again, his Father hadn't made him that way. Finding himself where he was now, fighting two of Heaven's foot soldiers, he silently wished that he had done something about that. Using his powers, he created another Gabriel to even the playing field a bit. Hesther continued to fight him, doing so with ferocity that terrified him. Despite his higher rank, he wasn't sure he could walk out of this unscathed – especially not after the flight here had him handicapped. Dodging another swing, he went to his haunches before he used his wings to throw his sister to the ground.

"Hesther, please! There is more to this than you know; I don't want to kill you, sister."

"Then perhaps you should not have sided with Lucifer."

She spat the words at him before using her position on the ground to jump at him. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted and pulled, disarming her as he tossed her across the road. It wasn't until that moment he noticed how quiet the once bustling road had become. Throwing another fake at Uriel before he could destroy the first, he tossed two at Hesther to keep her busy while he flew to a better vantage point nearby. Gabriel stared down in horror at the hordes of Demons overrunning the town. He found it doubtful that they had missed the arrival of three and a half(because Dean hardly counted) Angels, but why would they not react? Why did they continue with the façade? What were they-

"Dean…"

* * *

Dean stood on the rooftop overlooking the church entrance. He didn't know where to go from here, only having the initial plan of finding Castiel's mother and drilling her for information to go on. Now he was alone on a rooftop with the sun sliding down the horizon. Settling onto the edge, he tried not to wallow in the immense feeling of being alienated.

* * *

Had it not been for Hesther destroying both of the fakes and launching herself towards him, Gabriel would have flown the instant he had realized what was happening. How had they known? These were clearly the Angels of this time, the wear and tear of war not apparent on their Grace. Then again, it had been so long since he had been in Heaven. He didn't remember Hesther, or Uriel for that matter, being in Heaven prior to Castiel's fall. Trying to work out the possibility of being in some kind of integral time loop was proving to be too much of a distraction, the battle slowly destroying his stamina. Gabriel needed to put an end to this and he needed to do it now.

Dodging a blow but just barely, he feigned a wound and waited for her to approach for a finishing blow. She didn't keep him waiting. Creating another fake behind her, he slid the Angel blade across the ground to himself and the fake drove it home before she had the time to realize what he had done. His world erupted in the light of Grace dying before her hollowed vessel slumped to the ground.

* * *

Dean felt a warmth behind him, a light brighter than the setting sun flaring once before disappearing. He didn't know what was happening, but it couldn't be good. Grabbing the coat he had laid beside himself, he rose and turned to go back to Gabriel's aide. It wasn't until that moment he realized that he had problems of his own.

"Hey there, Big Boy. Mind handing yourself over or are we going to have to get nasty?"

* * *

Gabriel had not anticipated Uriel to last out after the death of his Garrison member. A growl escaped the younger Angel's throat as he threw himself towards Gabriel. He'd never been so happy for his vessel's smaller size until the moment he stepped aside and Uriel's momentum sent him sailing into a nearby wall. Using all of his wings, he pinned the larger man where he crashed, the blade he had recovered from his double pressed into Uriel's back.

"Why,Gabriel? Why have you turned against our Father's Will for a mud monkey, an insignificant-"

"I'm not doing this for him, brother."

"Then why? Why are you forsaking yourself?"

"Because Armageddon? The Apocalypse? It's wrong and Dad knew it."

"Then why did he abandon us, his most faithful children?"

"I dunno, maybe he wanted us to grow up."

Uriel seemed to think a moment before he continued, perhaps weighing the merit in this explanation.

"I will not stop. The bastardized thing must be taken to Heaven. We must allow history to run its course."

"I know."

Thrusting his blade into the vessel's heart, he knew better than apologizing for this. He couldn't be sorry for something he did not regret. He had lost two siblings, a brother and a sister in arms, but it was a small price to pay if it meant he could put a stop to this madness. Now his only hope was that Dean was still safe.

* * *

Something had changed, a searing pain in his arm that wouldn't stop. Clutching the handprint, the pain intensified as he curled in on himself. There was a continuous noise, something loud and ringing that washed out the words Balthazar appeared to be yelling to him. His heart was beating erratically, the frantic pace it set like the beating of a marching drum. As his mind fought its way to clarity he realized the noise was his own voice crying out for something, someone.

"Dean!"

* * *

"So, how about you give in, Dean? It's only going to get worse from here."

He hurt all over, his body pummeled and his face pretty damn demolished. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even his breathing, the ache in his ribs nothing compared to the pain where the bone of his left wing broke skin. The blonde demon stood over him, her black eyes roaming while she lifted her foot before dropping it onto the broken appendage. Fuck pride, Dean screamed until his voice went hoarse and he tasted blood in the back of his throat, sobbing from the pain in the effort.

"Fuck you, bitch."

"Aren't you just a sweet talker? I'm flattered."

"Bite me."

"Is that an invitation?"

"The answer is no."

"Then what good are you?"

Raising her foot again, possibly to smash in his face, she stopped short before dropping to the ground. Through his left eye, only slightly less swollen than the other, he watched Gabriel move to touch her again only to have her roll across the injured wing. Dean screamed again as black began to eat away at his vision. Straining to keep conscious as she continued to roll until she was out of view, she loomed over his face as she smirked at Gabriel.

"I'll be back for him."

* * *

Gabriel watched as the demon broke the woman's neck in its haste to escape her body, nothing he could do in this weakened state as the smoke billowed from her and then disappeared. Dropping to his knees, he found Dean alive but damaged beyond his capacity to heal with hours left to find Castiel's mother.

"Fuck."

* * *

Balthazar had not seen anything like this, completely at a loss on what to do. Castiel was not injured, the pains wracking his body foreign and he didn't know how to stop it. It wasn't until he noticed the mark on his forearm, the print he barely covered with his own, that Balthazar had a revelation.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

* * *

Dean didn't know where he was when he opened his eyes, only that it was dark and cold in a way that made his bones rattle, his wings quivering above his nude form. The darkness was all consuming a void in all directions without the faintest hint of light.

"Cass?"

His voice did not travel far, the sound devoured by the darkness surrounding him. He didn't know where he was, but he was well and truly alone.


	29. XXIX

Dean tried to get a proper grasp of his surroundings, crouching down in an attempt to feel the ground he walked on to no avail. There was no way to describe the texture – it wasn't smooth, coarse or dense in any way. It was like hard air but it wasn't hard exactly, just kind of there. Feeling the floor and figuring it out was not going to help him he rationalized before standing again. He didn't like this, the confusion the void surrounding him was.

Vaguely, Dean wondered if he was somehow blind. 'But that doesn't explain the floor.' Looking down at himself, it was hard to miss the almost luminescent quality his skin had taken, as if someone had taken all of the light from this place into him and the void left behind couldn't touch it. Fuck, this wasn't his area of expertise. Deciding that the best thing he could do was to get used to this place, Dean hesitantly held his arms ahead of himself as he began moving forward.

* * *

Balthazar had been trying to get in contact with Gabriel for hours, Castiel's state worsening with each passing second. The ex-Angel was blissfully unconscious, but by the look of the hand print they were far from in the clear. The print had blazed white light for a moment before the skin began to char and blacken, cracks like veins beneath the surface of his skin spreading gradually. Balthazar didn't know how it happened, Dean laying claim to the make-shift soul Castiel possessed, but clearly something terrible had happened in the past and Gabriel needed to get the Hell out of Dodge before something irreparable happened now.

* * *

The darkness was beginning to get to Dean, time becoming a foreign concept as he continued to walk forwards without end. As his body continued moving his mind began to wander from this place in some subconscious attempt to maintain his sanity. He had been with Castiel for two months and within such a short amount of time his entire life changed; now he was here, trapped in some kind of Hellish Halfway House that never ended. Would he die here, alone like he had always hoped and feared?  
He found himself thinking about Sam again, his twenty-three year old Lawyer bound brother. He never got to tell him how sorry he was for pushing him away, something he would really regret if this was it.

What would Sammy have said if he sat him down and told him about everything? He'd probably call him a Jerk and tell him to stop joking around. If he showed him his wings, would he freak out? Knowing the nerd, he'd probably freak out and start spouting some nonsense from Harry Potter or some shit. They had Angels, right? Chuckling, he couldn't get the image of Sam's reaction to meeting Gabe out of his head. Oh, what he wouldn't give to see that.

Thinking of Gabe, his mind skipped over the smaller man entirely and made a beeline for Cass. They had come so far from that Thursday two months ago. That priest had opened his mind to another world and saved him in so many ways that he couldn't even begin to figure out how to thank him. He owed the nerdy man his life, his soul and his sanity. If someone had told him three months ago that he would sprout wings, fight monsters beside an Ex-Angel priest and bath with the man for the sake of cleanliness he probably would have murdered them. Yet here he was.

He wondered what Castiel would say to him dying, back in the past trying to save him for a change. Sure, they'd gotten close, but he always managed to surprise him. Would he be upset destroy the room they shared in some effort to get back at him for leaving him behind? Or would Castiel shut down, remaining stoic in his loss? Or would he even care? Dean allowed his arms to drop at his sides, his shoulders slumping as he stopped a moment to wallow in the feeling of loss he felt.

* * *

Through the curtain of black, Castiel saw Dean finally stop as his body began to slump in despair. He'd been trying to call out to him the instant he saw Dean, his voice hoarse from the effort. The curtain was like a wall between them, one that only Dean could not see through. He was at a loss of what to do, resting his right hand over the hand print while he leaned his head against the space between them.

"Dean."

* * *

Gabriel was more than a little disturbed by how easily the front desk had agreed to give him and Dean absolute privacy in the Honeymoon suite. Yeah, it's the 1980's but c'mon! There was no way anyone should find Gabriel and Dean as a couple. He gently laid the winged man down on the bed, careful not to further damage his wing. Gabe was just grateful that he had enough mojo left to glamor it. Seriously, it was supposed to be hard enough to get the room – it would have been impossible to do it with a man with wings.

Using the medical knowledge he could remember, he made quick work of setting Dean's bones and splinting them before he moved onto cleaning his cuts. Calculating in his head, he rationalized that it would take about a day and a half for him to heal completely and be restored to maximum capacity. He needed to return to the church, Dean would never forgive him if he failed to get the information they needed. Not that it mattered, but it would matter to Castiel and for Gabe that was enough.

Pulling out his Angelic blade, he made a routine sweep of the room, carving Angelic warding and Demon Traps to ensure the winged man's safety and his ability to return. Once complete, he set a glass of water on the bedside table, a note in case Dean woke up while he was gone (doubtful, but stranger things had happened) and he departed for the church in hopes that he wasn't too late.

* * *

Ruby was ecstatic that the advice that Alistair had given her worked. If things continued to go according to place, they could break through the walls of Heaven and snatch the Righteous Man's soul and be one step closer to breaking the first and most important seal. Sure would save them a Hell of a lot of time trying to figure out how to drag the poor bastard to Hell. What was four human years in comparison to fifty, eighty?

Now all that was left was to ensure Azazel tainted the little one in eight years, prepare him for the final seal. Briefly, she thought about the sorry excuse for an Angel that she had stolen bone fragments from. Here she'd thought they'd be tougher. Smiling at her own luck, she continued onwards into the deeper reaches of Hell, searching for the yellow eyed demon. She loved it when a plan came together.

* * *

Sam woke from yet another night terror of fire and darkness. He really needed to get some sleeping pills or something; his girlfriend pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and catching fire then, then the dreams of Dean broken and bleeding at his feet with wide wings twisted almost beyond recognition. What twenty-three year old dreams of this stuff? Wiping his brow and settling back into bed, he pulled Jess close as if to shield her from the terrible dreams as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_._

* * *

_This is the first and only Author's note in this story. I would like to thank you all for your wonderful reviews, your support and the fact that you even bothered to read this in the first place. You can thank HollyOakhill from deviantArt for the very existence of this story as well as the artwork that accompanies many of the chapters. Please, if you have the time to spare, do look through her gallery. _

_Now that Book One is concluded, for this is the last Chapter, I will strive to finish Book Two - Aurae Finis - sometime in the near future so that you may enjoy(?) that as well. Please take care and thank you again.  
_

_Sincerely,  
_

_AssbuttAnonymous  
_


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